Nice!

 Before law school my husband and I lived in a crappy apartment in a not so great part of town.  It was three stories up, had a view of power lines and a freeway, but we could afford it.  During this time my husband’s grandfather died and we inherited some of his old furniture.   My husband had the furniture shipped from Virginia to Washington, and one day I came home from work to find a couple stinky moving men at my crappy apartment’s front door asking what they should do with four large wooden crates.   We opened them,  I put a few of the pieces in the crappy apartment, put the rest in storage, and never forgave my husband for paying to have his grandfather’s used mattress and box springs shipped across the country with the other cargo.

One of the more interesting pieces of furniture was a pier table.  It sits in our foyer and I admire it daily.  It dates to 1804, and belonged to James Markham Marshall, my husband’s great (add 4 or 5 more greats) grandfather.  It looks sort of like this:

 Back then, I knew little of James Markam Marshall other than he was one of John Marshall’s brothers.  I knew that John Marshall was Chief Justice of the Supreme Court under Presidents Adams through Jackson, and that he was the author of  Marbury v. Madison, 5 U.S. 137 (1803).  The decision didn’t interest me as much as the pier table did.   Then in law school I read the case and John Marshall usurped Abraham Lincoln as the historical object of my love and affection.

Admittedly, reading the case is mind-numbing.   Writers of that generation used 20 words where one would have sufficed.  And they went over and over the same point as if repeating an idea from a different angle made  it more true.  But the greatness of the decision is its impact on our court system today.  Simply put, the decision defines what the U.S.  Supreme Court will and will not do.  The decision is a tour de force of judicial intellect, and a masterful exercise in constitutional interpretation and application.      In a nutshell, the case stands for the proposition that if the U.S. Constitution says thing A,  the legislature can’t come along and say, we don’t care about A.  We’re passing a law that says ignore A.  Do B.   In other words, John Marshall told the legislature to suck it.

I’m not sure if the facts of the case could be nuttier:  John Adams was outgoing President and Jefferson was President-elect.   John Adams and Jefferson hated each other.  Their bro-mance did not blossom until they were on their death beds.  They died on the same day, having called each other to coordinate it in the manner of fourteen year old girls – “wear your Jonas Brothers shirt today and I will too, kay?”  They hated each other because Adams was a Federalist (the honourable party) and Jefferson was a Jeffersonian Republican, which is today called a Democrat (a pussy liberal).    One of Adams’  final acts as President was to appoint William Marbury as Justice of the Peace in Washington D.C.   Properly commissioning a justice required the following:  nomination by the President, approval by the Senate, appointment by the President by signing the document (the commission), causing  the Secretary of State to affix the Presidential Seal to the commission, and delivery of the commission.    Pay attention to this last part:  delivery of the commission.

Jefferson took office and appointed Madison Secretary of State.     Jefferson plugged in his toothbrush, burned the stinky sheets Adams left behind, and sat down at his mahogany presidential desk.  He rifled through the stack of Pottery Barn catalogues and “Have You Seen Me” missing child flyers and found Marbury’s signed, sealed commission at the bottom of the pile.  Whether he told Madison to deliver it or not is shrouded in mystery, but Madison refused to deliver it.      Madison and Jefferson maintained that because the commission wasn’t delivered, Marbury was not Justice of the Peace of Washington D.C.   

When my daughter was a toddler, we had to ration her Easter candy so she wouldn’t eat it all at once and puke.  She somehow got ahold of a pile of candy and stashed it under our bed.  I caught her with the upper half of her body under the bed, eating her candy, with her rump sticking up in the air.  She apparently believed if she couldn’t see us, we couldn’t see her.   Madison’s logic was not dissimilar.   Marbury sued Madison and, pursuant to the Judiciary Act of 1789, the case went directly to the U.S. Supreme Court, bypassing all  inferior tribunals.

Marshall heard the case, and it must have pissed him off.  He could have said, “Listen here you monkeys!  Get over yourselves and deliver the damn commission to Marbury.  And leave me alone with your infantile gibberish.  I’m not sitting up here to consider such weightless matters, bring me an abortion or gay marriage case!”   Admittedly, Marshall graciously pointed out that if a man delivering a commission dropped it in a mud puddle or ate it, the commission was no less valid, holding that delivery of the commission was not an essential element of appointment of justices of the peace.

But the case doesn’t end here.  Marshall latched onto an issue so completely out of left-field that his fellow justices on the bench shrieked, “Brotha, have you gone quite mad?”   Marshall asked whether the law affords Marbury any relief.  He answered in the affirmative, noting that a section of the Judiciary Act of 1789 authorizes the humiliated and furious Marbury to seek a writ of mandamus from the U.S. Supreme Court.  A writ of mandamus  loosely translated means an order to do something, to “mandate” the doing of something.  Marshall also could have stopped here, and issued the writ.   But he went on with his crazy brilliant judiciary meanderings.

He noted that Article III of the U.S. Constitution clearly states that the U.S. has original jurisdiction (hearing a case before any other court has heard it) only in cases affecting ambassadors, public ministers or consuls, and cases between states.   The Constitution continues, “In all other cases, the Supreme Court shall have appellate jurisdiction.”   This means that the U.S. Supreme Court sits as a hearing body for cases decided in lower courts that are appealed to the Supreme Court.  In these cases, the narrow issue for the U.S. Supreme court is not what happened in the underlying dispute, but whether the lower court made a boo boo. 

Marshall thought to himself,

Hmmmm. . The Judiciary Act of 1789 says I’m supposed to handle this here mandamus thing.  But no other lower court has weighed-in on the matter.  That’s what I call a case of original jurisdiction if there ever was one.   But as I told those idiots Marbury and Madison, I’m not sitting up here to push paper like this here mandamus.   If that philanderer James Monroe as Ambassador to the United Kingdom gets drunk and slips a ruffie to King George’s niece,  I would hear that case.  That’s what I call some original jurisdiction.  Also, if Hawaii wants to sue Alaska, I’ll hear that case.  That’s also what I calls original jurisdiction.  But this Judiciary Act of 1789 crap?  Seems what I’ve got here is the legislature acting in direct conflict with the Constitution.   I’m supposed to interpret and enforce the Constitution, not some piece of tomfoolery put before me by a bunch of politicians.

 So Marshall declared the Judiciary Act of 1789 unconstitutional.  Done and done.  No other Justice had declared a piece of legislation unconstitutional before.  Marshall was a rock star. 

Many of today’s legislator prefer to ignore Marshall’s edict.   Take Diane Feinstein, for example.  Diane Feinstein is unconcerned with maintaining the pesky checks and balances necessary to our tricameral system of government, as evidenced by the following verbatim transcript from Justice John Roberts’ nomination hearing:

ROBERTS: When it comes to interpreting of law, I go back to Marbury v. Madison. That is emphatically the province and duty of the judicial branch. We don’t defer to the executive. We don’t defer to the legislature in making that final decision about what the law is.

FEINSTEIN: If confirmed, maybe you will defer to the legislative a little bit. Thank you…

 Great insignt, Diane!  Ignore Marbury v. Madison AND develop a new standard of legislative deference to be known as the “a little bit” standard.  Good work.  Feinstein also wants touchy feely Justices: 

FEINSTEIN: Let me ask you this question this way: If you were in that situation with someone you deeply love and you saw the suffering, who would you want to listen to, your doctor or the government telling you what to do? To me, it’s that stark because I’ve been through it.

ROBERTS: Well, Senator, in that situation, obviously, you want to talk and take into account the views and heartfelt concerns of the loved one that you’re trying to help in that situation, because you know how they are viewing this. You know what they mean when they’re saying things like what their wishes are and their concerns are and, of course, consulting with their physician. But it seems to me that in that situation, you do want to understand and make sure that you appreciate the views of the loved one. And only you can do it because…

FEINSTEIN: That wasn’t my question.

ROBERTS: I’m sorry.

FEINSTEIN: I’m trying to see your feelings as a man. I’m not asking you for a legal view. 

 Where are the brilliant minds of 200  years ago?  There are a few, John Roberts is among them, I believe.   If it was up to Diane Feinstein, the U.S. Constitution would be interpreted by a family of raccoons.  I’m glad John Marshall isn’t alive to witness nomination hearings.  He would certainly be pissed off.

My friend Scott knows of my unhealthy obsession with military history, especially pre-20th Century history, and the fact that I took dressage lessons to “reaquaint” myself with skills I developed in a previous life as a cavalry soldier. Don’t call me crazy. I can drive to work each day and people imagine I know what I’m doing, so indulge me this foolishness. So Scott loaned me The Duellists, a movie I don’t know how I missed when it came out about twenty years ago. The clip is my favorite scene from the movie, and I wonder how the horsemen could have NOT crapped in their trousers. Or maybe they did!

Thank you thank you THANK YOU to the evil genius who created the site from which I copied the photo, above:  www.peopleofwalmart.com.   I now have another reason for living.  Enjoy.

 

Well, sorry about that.  I just got up to get a fresh bottle of Yoo Hoo and I have no memory of anything after shoving aside fifteen packages of egg noodles to get to a new six-pack.  I also have a strange, unexplained tattoo behind my left ear and I feel as though I may have been subjected to an anal probe.   

There is much to say so stay tuned.   When my memory returns, I will likely reveal that I have accomplished the following tasks this summer:

• Learned how to execute a perfect dive, along with my third-grader;
• Grew mangled and deformed carrots in my garden;
• Watched several hours of WWII history, particularly as it pertains to Erwin Rommel (The Desert Fox, or the “Dessert” Fox, as I like to call him);
• Grew my right big toenail out and cut holes in all my shoes to accommodate the new growth;
• Finally got with the twenty first century and bought an iPhone;
• Cleaned my ears with Q-Tips;
• Learned  how to make eggplant parmesan;
• Visited the US Naval Academy at Annapolis – I wasn’t accepted;
• Learned I get to go to Madrid with my BFF Margaret;
• Decided maybe I might get a tattoo (of my family’s coat of arms).

Please stay tuned; I’m trying to download photos left on my phone from the mother ship.  I will delete probe-photos, don’t worry.

A friend told me he has a repetitive dream in which he has to go to the bathroom but something is always in his way – the  ceiling is too low, the floor too messy, the door of the bathroom is locked, the toilet isn’t working, or some other obstacle stands in his way of performing this rudimentary and necessary task.   His dream brought to mind a similar one I have about once a week, except instead of trying to find a bathroom, I’m trying to find a swimming pool.  I want to swim laps, maybe a half mile.    One pool is empty, another is too crowded, another is too shallow, and another is too short.  Last night the pool I found to swim laps in was so short I was able to swim only two strokes before I had to flip over and go back the other way.   In the dream I feel frustrated and unsatisfied.

I’ve read that water in a dream represents the dreamer’s emotional life.   What do you think?  Do any of you have any ideas about Scott’s bathroom dream or my swimming dream?

This morning as I was e-mailing my dry cleaners to ask how they would like to open negotiations concerning the cleaner’s destruction of my favorite grandfather-style gray cashmere sweater that I love so much I sleep in it, I carefully examined the concept of complaining.  I’m not talking about the shouting at the air-type of complaining as in “Godda*n these hemorrhoids are killing me!” but complaining in a manner so as to achieve a specific response.  I’ve been on both ends of this spectrum, having given complaints that would give Zsa Zsa Gabor a run for her  money to having given complaints that would make my state BAR Association proud.   I’ve received my fair share of complaints too: as an attorney for a governmental agency, the phrase “kick me”  is on my back at all times, and if someone is technologically capable of tracking down my e-mail address, they can send me all the diatribes they like. 

Accordingly, I know a lot about complaining.  This morning when I contacted my dry cleaners, I  implemented what I’ve learned, and the following tips  may be of some benefit to you:

The Opening – Use Respect and Decorum:  When receiving a complaint, I prefer to be addressed as Ms. (last name), not by my first name.  If I don’t  know the complainer, then we aren’t on a first-name basis and he shouldn’t be so presumptuous.   Following this trajectory, avoid salutations such as “Hey Sugar Tits” or “To the Fat Mother Fuc*er Who Ruined my Sweater:”  I don’t like “To Whom It May Concern,”  either.  When I see this opener, I think  I’m not concerned, so I guess I’m not the proper addressee  and  then I promptly hit Delete.    If you don’t know who your audience is, simply don’t use a salutation.  It’s better than a stupid one.

Relevance.    While seemingly an easy instruction to follow, this is what trips-up most complainers.  If you’re writing to me because your cable company and the FCC won’t respond to your complaints about unsatisfactory cable service, then how does it enhance your request for my intervention to tell me that you (1) have children that (2) are potty-trained and (3) wrote on the wall with a red Sharpie this morning causing you to (4) have an incredibly painful bowel movement?    As you might imagine, such information – while mildly interesting in pedestrian conversation -  doesn’t have any bearing on your cable service.   And it’s not just the absurd information that should be omitted:  the fact you contacted the FCC on 4 occasions as opposed to 3 occasions or even 87 occasions isn’t relevant to your desire for my help.   If you’re thinking that I will help you if you made four contacts with the FCC but that I won’t help you if the four contacts really were only three, then you’re smoking crack.   It may be necessary for you to think through each sentence and ask, “why is this information vital to the reader in order that he or she can achieve what I’m asking for?   If you can’t answer this question, leave out the sentence. 

Length.  I’ve discovered that – even in polite conversation – most people have an attention span of about twelve seconds.  This time-period has geological proportions when compared to the attention span of a person reading a complaint.  If you can’t tell your reader what you want in a quarter of the time (three seconds) then don’t bother.   You should:

1. Say what you want in the first sentence.  Don’t blather on an on until the end of the letter.  By then you’ve pissed off your reader and he won’t want to do any thing for you. DO THIS:  “Dear Ms. (Last name).  I’m hoping you can contact Joe Smith’s Cable Company for me to see what can be done about my interrupted service.”  NOT THIS:  “I am a citizen of [Gomorrah] and have paid $X in taxes for X years and I think Joe’s Cable Company is completely unprofessional [blah blah blah for hree more pages] In summary, your help would be appreciated.”
2. Keep the e-mail to one paragraph or the letter to one page. This doesn’t mean squishing everything you want to say into eight point font (And please – Arial or Times Roman only, no Sans Serif or Edwardian Script).  That will just piss off the reader AND cause cranial hemorraging. 
3. Tell the reader what you want him or her to do.  Don’t say, “please help me.”   If your letter follows the rambling stroll through a labyrinth that is the style of most letters, I won’t have any idea of how to help you except to say a prayer for your peace and tranquility or shoot you.  It is more effective to say, “If you would find out when my service will be reinstalled” or “I am owed $x and would like it returned to me within 30 days.”
4. Along the lines of #3, above, ask your reader for specific help which can actually be accomplished.  Don’t say:  “Help me put these criminals [the cable company] out of business forever!” or “I want the CFO of Comcast to send me a formal written apology by way of a tattoo on his left butt cheek.”  Imaginative, but you’ll probably be waiting a long time.

The Closing.   It shouldn’t need to be articulated, but avoid “P.S.” on a complaint letter or e-mail.  P.S. is for fifth grade girls and the French.  The P.S. is the writing equivalent of the person who can’t end a conversation and keeps reeling you back in once you’ve lost interest.   

I hope these suggestions are helpful.   Many good books have been written about this topic, and you might consult one of them with questions.  Emily Post is not a bad place to start. She has suggestions for all aspects of life, not just the complaint letter.  Or you could resort to Zsa Zsa’s tactics and bitch-slap whomever pissed you off.

Love  -N- Stuff,

Sugar Tits McCoy.

   

Mood Ring Mama (MRM)’s husband is a true find.  He has a PhD in Economics, he’s funny, and he has good table manners.  For Bill’s fortieth birthday I found the perfect shirt for him.  It has a picture of Bigfoot (the grainy photo from the ’70s of Bigfoot loping into the woods, looking over his right shoulder) and the caption “I Believe.”  The ideal shirt for such an educated and scientific man.

To reciprocate, Bill found something for me at Joe’s going out of business-sale.  You can see it in the photo, above, which truly doesn’t do it justice.  The gift is a pair of (resin) deer antlers that fasten onto the front doors of a vehicle.  They are perfect for my van.  Yesterday I drove to work with them, promptly forgetting they were there and remaining perplexed when other drivers stared at me at stop-lights.  For awhile I thought maybe I’d left my coffee cup on the top of the van. 

I drove to work with impunity, smug in my coolness.  When I arrived at work, however, I discovered that the passenger-side antler had hooked itself onto a plastic Safeway bag.  My guess is that as many people ogled the plastic bag as my antlers.

From this experience, I’ve learned the following:

• Driving with antlers increases wind resistance making it difficult to get the van over 110 miles per hour.
• A plastic bag on one antler increases the drag described above.
• Moreover, a plastic bag hooked onto ones driving antler is the automotive equivalent of toilet paper on your shoe.
• Apparently there is a Washington Administrative Code section within the Model Traffic Ordinance concerning standard and acceptable vehicle equipment.  Antlers are not listed.

I took the antlers off when I took the plastic bag off, but they are in my trunk ready to be decorated each holiday.   The fourth of July is coming up.  I’m sure I can find some red, white, and blue garland.  But I’ll have to ride everywhere alone – my kids (the oldest) won’t be seen with me.