On Appeal

Well, T-10 minutes until the Murder Appeal. This guy is absolutely disgusting, just to be a totally impartial lawyer type... he was found guilty of first degree murder and two counts of predatory criminal assault. Because the victim was only 14 months old (!!!), the court imposed thirty-year terms on each of the sex offenses to run consecutively, in addition to a mandatory life sentence. He’s back in court arguing that a "natural life sentence" violates a mandate that was in place at the time of his original sentencing declaring the imposition of such a punishment unconstitutional. But I have very little sympathy, and very little prediction of hope, for a guy who made a fourteen month old eat poop from a training toilet before sticking a hot curling iron up her butt and eventually beating her to death. I vote for the gallows. In spite of my fervent desire that I had neglected to read the hundred-fifty page case briefs (and thus entertain a relatively blissful ignorance regarding the heinous nature of the crimes), it’s kind of cool to be sitting in on an actual proceeding. There’s a dress code and everything. The string of humorless, unimaginative suits at the front of the room look positively imposing, but very professional and valid, as opposed to those irresponsibly cheesy Law and Order episodes.

Later... turns out the defendant wasn’t even present. It seems unfair that is fate is being decided but he’s sitting in a cell somewhere. Today was what’s termed a postconviction appeal; they’re disputing how the sentence was doled out. Turns out it’s a moot issue even if they removed the natural life sentence, he would receive the maximum murder charge of 60 years, plus 30 years for each of the sexual assault charges, all to be served consecutively, for a sentence of 120 years... then, even if he acted like a "perfect prisoner," he wouldn’t be eligible for parole for fifty years. It’s just a matter of principle, apparently, and one of the reasons so many people despise this profession.

There were three judges at the front, and we had to stand when they came in and left... the whole bit. It looked like the three aged Stooges – all slightly slumped, with glasses and a crusty exterior. They spit questions and harsh comments impartially at both sides, but all three were repeatedly fixated on the heinous nature of the crimes, which was encouraging as evidence of their having hearts.
I’m excited to go home and pack tonight. I hate the drive but it’s so nice to be home on the weekends. I love walking in and having Zippy maul me with wagging tail and unending exuberance.

This morning I woke up at 5 for whatever reason and couldn’t go back to sleep. The hamsters have really helped me, though, because whenever I wake up in the middle of the night I hear them running or rustling around and fall right back asleep, whereas I used to toss and turn for sometimes multiple hours every time. I finally gave up and got up to hang with my rodents. Sally was, per custom, awake, alert and grooming, nestled in her beloved food dish. Harry, as is his custom, had buried himself in his fluff. He was really active last night, though, while I was working, running like a possessed being on the little green wheel. While I’m reading and doing briefs at night, I park my laptop on the floor next to their playpen and let them loose inside it, with a constellation of paper towel tubes, wooden vegetables and running wheel.

I figured out why I periodically hear incensed squeaks emitting from the cage. Sally, like a mother monkey, uses her front paws to claw around in Harry’s fur and clean him. When she gets too close to his face, he lashes out and they both squeal and retreat. I’ve never seen a hamster do that before...? They don’t seem to have fleas... of course, how would I know?

Lost last night was inexcusably boring. Ever since they went down in the hatch, all the mystery has disappeared. It looks like the whole island is just a government experiment that the survivors happened upon. The supernatural elements that I so adored have all but evaporated. Not that anyone cares. I guess that’s what happens when a show wins a constellation of awards – the bar is so high they feel they can no longer take the storyline risks that made the show a success in the first place.

"The material we will cover this week cannot be dressed up in any enjoyable manner. It is as dry as dirt and as interesting as a lecture on the Kreb cycle. Best of luck." – Professor Smith