A Foolish Consistency

Sunrise, Sunset

David Randall — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 23:36:40 +0000

Not Boston

David Randall — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 00:53:18 +0000

Taken with an iPhone and of middling quality, this shot still captures our Florida view.

Back to Boston early tomorrow morning.

In a Sunshine State

David Randall — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 01:22:53 +0000

I’ve eaten more bagels in the past three days than I have since–well, since last spring break, which was the last time I visited my father-in-law and his wife in south Florida. Behind me surf crashes on the sand fourteen floors below; looking west through the condo dusky orange and purple bands mark the sun’s retreat. We’ve bounced between the workout room, ocean, pool, and shower since Thursday morning, snatching an advance on summer. Tomorrow’s weather promises to be the best. It’s been delightful.

I expect this afternoon’s visit to South Beach will last for a long while. We met Samuel and his girlfriend to walk around the the Art Deco district, watch the crowds, savor the sun and cool breeze–and find pancakes. Restaurant after bistro after cafe filled sidewalk tables with diners, hostesses smiling as they passed out menus and discount coupons to entice us to sit, their smiles going blank when we asked “are you still serving breakfast?” No, they were not, but Samuel wanted pancakes and we indulged his quest. Rock music blasted from a plaza where seated patrons encouraged college-age students, helmeted with inverted plastic beach pails, who jumped, shook, and stumbled in what may have been a dance. I scanned the two tiers of sidewalk tables in a crowded open-front cafe playing painfully loud disco without spotting a single woman. Lap dogs were everywhere, carried as often as leashed. Dozens of dogs sat dutifully under cafe tables, waiting for handouts and human clumsiness to deliver food scraps like manna. I saw one woman lowering a full water glass to the sidewalk for her parched pooch. (I trust the water temperature in the restaurant’s dishwasher s exceeds the sanitary code minimum. ) Judy and I were not hungry when we stepped into South Beach but the walk, sun, and crowds burned through the morning’s bagels. Samuel’s solo quest became a team effort. We turned west off Ocean Avenue, walked to Collins, and started north. No crowds, fewer restaurants, but paydirt came at Cafe des Arts, serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I also had the pancakes. The menu promised maple syrup but delivered only ersatz caramel-colored Shur-Fine corn syrup that may have been driven past a maple tree on the way from the plant. Not that I was deterred, mind.

Carbo-heavy meals, walking on crowded sidewalks, and hot sun made for a logy drive back from Miami. A nap tempted until I looked at soft lowering sunlight lighting up the ocean. The air temperature was 66 degrees–only a bit more than what our Miami-acclimated son calls “bone-chillingly cold”–but warm enough for me. A young couple sat side-by-side in the sand, clad in jeans, long-sleeve shirts, and Polar fleece tops. I walked passed them shirtless, wearing only a bathing suit, and dove into the modest waves. When I surfaced and looked back to shore they were brushing sand off their clothes and heading north. I floated into the swells feet-first, staying in the water until the sun dropped behind the nearest buildings.

Not the Most Likely Reason

David Randall — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 17:02:52 +0000

Spring break begins officially on Saturday. It begins for me when I leave school today at 4 pm. Most students have at least one mid-term exam this week, many have more. My real estate law exam was at 9:30 and my Internet exam is happening while I write. (It’s a tough morning for the handful of students in both classes.) These classes, combined, have 107 students. I was available in my office for about 11 hours this week. My exams are reputedly hard–”tricky” is the adjective preferred. Nine students , roughly 9% of the total (discounting those in both classes) visited or emailed with questions.

I must be good. Damn good.

On the other hand I literally spent hours talking with a few students. Sometimes we even talked about course material.

This is a funny business.

The Wild Western Suburbs

David Randall — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 14:11:43 +0000

A noise outside woke me at 3 am today. We sleep with open windows all-year and I knew this noise came from outside. I lay quietly for a minute, then heard it again: sharp howls coming from the direction of a nearby wooded area. Coyotes. They continued, interspersed with yips and barks, for another few minutes, then all was quiet. Coyotes are not news in the area but unlike most of my neighbors, I have never seen one close by. I was relieved my dogs were inside. While small they are not bite-sized lap dogs–at 23 & 30 pounds I’m sure they outweigh most local coyotes–but they are such wussy domesticated creatures that a sharp word from a coyote would overcome them.

News from the Base

David Randall — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 20:24:49 +0000

Josh Skyped last night from his base in Honduras. After three weeks he is settling in to the job and to life on the base. He was having a quiet night to get up early for what he called an “MW&R” trip. “MW&R?” we asked. “Morale, Welfare, and Relaxation” Josh replied. Everything’s an acronym or abbreviation in the Army. They planned to visit a waterfall–the temperature is in the 80s or 90s every day–and end the day at a brewery. Josh said there are MW&R trips every weekend. It’s the new Army recruiting motto: Be as Relaxed as You Can Be.

Explanation Given

David Randall — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 20:14:22 +0000

Some interesting comments followed Explanation Wanted, a recent post prompted by my difficulties responding to a recommendation request from a former student. (These comments appeared in my Google Buzz feed, not on this site.) Two comments thought it a desperate response to the competitiveness of law school admission or a misinterpretation of law school application signals to favor a recommendation from a law teacher, even if the student received higher grades in other courses. Personal or family issues may have caused the student’s performance that semester to suffer. (If that happens to you, clue in your teachers.) I agree with the comment that “students can fall through the cracks.” Some years back, concerned about some students who passed through my classroom like ghosts, I strongly encouraged every student to see me in office hours during the first six weeks of the semester. About 80% of my students those semesters responded. These meetings were helpful for me, but were inefficient. The same comment noted that office hours “can be very problematic for students with high levels of commitment elsewhere, or for students who are particularly unadjusted to networking and communication with teachers (aka shy).” Thinking also of my post about diminishing attendance at office hours, if students spend less time in face to face contact with faculty–whether because they are busy, or they think an email message is just as good, or they can’t see any benefit that will come from talking with a professor, the decline in the number of students I know well enough to recommend could provide me with abundant free time.

Class Act

David Randall — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 23:30:55 +0000

It was take-your-sister-to-work day. Curious about what I do–or, as a friend said, because she has too much vacation time–my sister attended today’s Internet Law and Intro to Law. When a friend or family member sits in on a class I have to block them out. I tamp down my heightened self-consciousness and drain special meaning from their presence so they become another face. This was made easier by lively discussions in both classes–well done, students. Many weren’t aware of her presence. Others likely assumed she was a parent or administrator. From the back row she saw laptop users shopping, checking email, reading the news, and otherwise distracting themselves from the discussion. (It helps the grading curve that, were I to reveal exam answers during class discussion, blissful ignorance of their surroundings would cause some students to get them wrong.) She enjoyed the experience. And she only nodded off once. In a stuffy room. After eating lunch. Briefly.

Ghosts?

David Randall — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 03:03:08 +0000

Should the law require the seller of a house to disclose that a murder or suicide occurred there? The Consumerist blog posed this question a few weeks ago, noting the Massachusetts law (G.L. ch. 93 §114) does not require such disclosure:

The fact or suspicion that real property may be or is psychologically impacted shall not be deemed to be a material fact required to be disclosed in a real estate transaction. “Psychologically impacted” shall mean an impact being the result of facts or suspicions including, but not limited to, the following:

(a) that an occupant of real property is now or has been suspected to be infected with the Human Immunodeficiency Virus or with Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome or any other disease which reasonable medical evidence suggests to be highly unlikely to be transmitted through the occupying of a dwelling;

(b) that the real property was the site of a felony, suicide or homicide; and

(c) that the real property has been the site of an alleged parapsychological or supernatural phenomenon.

No cause of action shall arise or be maintained against a seller or lessor of real property or a real estate broker or salesman, by statute or at common law, for failure to disclose to a buyer or tenant that the real property is or was psychologically impacted.

Which does not mean the seller can lie about it:

Notwithstanding the foregoing, the provisions of this section shall not authorize a seller, lessor or real estate broker or salesman to make a misrepresentation of fact or false statement.

Should this be the law? Would a house’s history of murder or suicide affect how much you would be willing to pay for it?

Is Ginga Vitis Related to Vitas Gerulaitis?

David Randall — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 23:37:42 +0000

I spent a few hours today in the periodontist’s chair. I was injected, inspected, and disinfected, draped and scraped, inverted and squirted, sliced and iced, stitched and hitched to my periodontist for follow-up appointments. I’ve had an ice bag duct-taped to my jaw for the past six hours. If it looks like I’m hiding a chipmunk in my cheek tomorrow, be nice.