November 2007

So mr. jolt and I are off to the big city tomorrow, for one night, to join some friends throwing a high-class blast of a party to celebrate  drown their sorrows about turning 40.  It will be a lot of fun and a lot of other people we haven’t seen lately will be there as well.

Because it took us a while to arrange an overnight sitter, we were late making a hotel reservation.  As a result, the cheapest place that wasn’t either 20 miles outside the city or likely to be extremely scary, was for the bargain price of $299.  Before taxes.  For one frigging night.  Cough, cough, sputter, sputter.  We aren’t even going to be in the city for 24 hours.  On the other hand, with mr. jolt’s work schedule we haven’t had a date night since early September, so it should all even out in the end, right?  Right?


One frustating thing about civil litigation occurs when you  know that a particular claim is not likely to do well, you advise one’s client of said fact, and having client state that they refuse to settle because the $ is too low/too high when you know they will regret it if the case proceeds to trial. 

I’ve been working on a monstrous civil case in which this occurred and after reviewing boxes upon boxes of documents and awaiting yet further boxes and boxes of documents and mentally steeling myself for a multi-week trial involving highly technical and detailed testimony. 

Then  a few weeks ago, a whisper of a new possibility of settlement arose, prompted by new personnel in decision-making positions.  Today, it has been confirmed that a number has been agreed upon between the parties.  

I feel like I’ve just been given future weeks and months of my life back.  This was one of those cases that really was just about the money and I find those the most exasperating to try.  So, woohoo, here’s to reason and compromise and settlement!! 

It’s that time of year again when millions of parents attempt to catch the essence of their offspring’s charm on camera in order to send pictures of said cherubs far and wide to relatives, friends, former neighbors, etc. 

My dilemma is this – we have a cute picture of the boys sitting on Santa’s lap from a ride on the “Santa Express” train we rode over the long weekend.  It is a much better picture of them than the multiple dozens we had attempted over the prior week.  Time is running short.  mr. jolt wants to use the santa pic for the holiday card.  I, however, don’t want to impose santa on my non-santafying friends, and, frankly, don’t really want to include some stranger in a suit in our yearly photo.

Any suggestions?

See this cat and girl comic from a few days ago.

Well, I tried to comment in response to this post by Lauren at offsprung, but it won’t take the password I thought I had, and keeps erroring me out.  So here it is:

When my mom remarried when I was a kid, she didn’t want to take my stepdad’s name b/c it would have given her the same name as a major criminal in the news at the time.  She didn’t want to keep my dad’s name, either.  So she went with her maiden name and we had three names on our mailbox – it sounded like a law firm – any surprise I ended up a lawyer?   Anyway, as a result, I never considered taking mr. jolt’s name, although I did suggest some version of our names smooshed together (he wouldn’t do it) so we each have our names & the kids are hyphenated. 

Our theory: by the time they might be settling down with someone who might also be  hyphenated they’ll hopefully have some solution to this whole conundrum.

This post reminded me of a terrible poem I wrote back in college.  (I wrote a lot of terrible poetry back then).  In essence, it was a rant against my then boyfriend, now husband, that I would not be his personal feminist librarian.  I was in that first flush of feminism: angry, depressed, yet filled with rage seeking an outlet.  mr. jolt read the poem and, in some ways, backed away.   I think, looking back, he felt somewhat clueless, and in keeping with his general undergraduate persona, he took the lazy way out, and continued to rely on me to inform him of feminist viewpoints (dear reader, he has improved in this regard – but more on that later).

I am torn on the issue of feminist education and my individual obligation to provide it- I think it depends on the place and the person.  There are people who I think are not unreasonable, who seem merely unaware, who I try to draw in, educate, a little at a time.  I think I do this more often where I live now, which is a generally more conservative and traditional area than the BigCity I moved from a few years back.  So I try to have patience and remind myself that ignorance is not always arrogance.

But.  In a legal group I belong to, a certain portion of members are nominated as students by an officer of the local law school who is also a member of this legal group.  This year they were all male, all white.  I was discussing this with one of mr. jolt’s colleagues I’m friendly with, who said, yes, you need to tell Mr. G and he’s always appalled at himself, and says “please remind me, I just don’t think.”

Sheesh, the privilege in that.  He means to nominate women, to nominate non-white males, but just can’t remember unless someone reminds him.  Give me a break.  One or two years of “oversight” maybe- the guy is of an older generation where enlightenment is less commonly found – but this is absurd.

Anyway, I find myself torn between opposing drives: the drive to convince people I know that feminism is not as scary as they think it is (more on an interchange on that subject in a later post) and the drive to say: fuck ’em they’re just a bunch of entitled, privileged assholes.

When I was in college I always knew that I would be more comfortable working “in the system” trying to change it from the inside out.  I knew I didn’t have the heart or mettle of the revolutionary radical.  Which leads me to conclude that I must continue to educate and subtly manipulate.  And, where necessary confront, as I may well do with the guy above who just can’t “remember” because reminding him is not so much education but insistence on action.  But jeez, providing all this enlightenment gets old.

One of the absolute best things about being a parent is the sheer joy and excitement that kids exude and pull you into.

We had our first snow of the season tonight.  It started at bedtime, but so what.  Big, fat fluffy flakes were filling the night sky.  We put on our jackets, gloves, boots, and hats, and went dancing into the quiet street.  The two neighbor boys, J and D, came out with sleds and started going down the steep hill of our street, but the snow was too wet.  They soon started skidding on their hockey shin guards down their steep driveway.  BB and LB tried sledding down our front yard, but the snow was better for snow balls than sledding. LB, not liking snow ball fights, retreated to the kitchen with me for graham crackers while BB and mr. jolt pummeled each other under the stars.


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