April is the Cruelest Month

Actually, April has been quite lovely here; I’ve been enjoying brief glimpses of it as I trudged back and forth to the library. But after three weeks I'd produced a ten page paper I could present in 30 minutes. Titled “A Brief History of Securities Regulation and the Role of Corporate Trustees in the United States and New Zealand,” it’s about, well, the history of securities regulation (really interesting) and the role of corporate trustee in the U.S. and NZ (less interesting, but half based on my area of expertise). I was rather proud of myself for being able to tie it all together coherently.

The research and writing were actually fun, or at least interesting, but I didn’t leave myself enough time to prepare for the presentation, so the night before I was feeling pretty anxious. I managed to sleep well, however, and was doing ok when the time arrived. There were 8 or 9 faculty members in the audience and, after thanking the Department Head for inviting me, I launched into my talk without hesitation. While practicing at home with Ali, my tongue seemed to get tripped up a lot and my delivery was completely wooden. But now my voice sounded more like I wanted it to, enunciating clearly and giving appropriate emphasis along the way.

The only problem was that, moments after I began, I was absolutely drenched in sweat. I’m not talking about a little perspiration here, but a total body soak. I could feel a drip on the end of my chin reappear every time I tried to discreetly wipe it away. The funny thing was, my body's reaction was totally disproportionate to what I was feeling. If it wasn’t so embarrassing, it would have been hilarious. People couldn’t even look at me, it was really that bad.

But, since I didn’t know what else to do, I just keep plowing ahead. Eventually it stopped, although every so often I’d feel another drop slither down my back. When I reached the end I just ignored the fact that I'd either had my first hot flash or was constitutionally unsuited to speak in front of groups. Fortunately, everyone else ignored it too and, after a reasonable number of questions and a little discussion, it was over. Now all I had to do was kill two hours and come back for my interview. (More on that next.)

Special thanks to all the friends and family who sent encouraging messages. They were very much appreciated!!!

Cheers,
Sandie

An article from The New Yorker has been sent to you.

We interrupt our regularly scheduled program (that is, I'm still busy preparing my presentation), to bring you this week's "Shouts & Murmurs" item from The New Yorker. Nothing much has been happening anyway (unless you count the new Pope, the financial market's melt down, or NZ's Prime Minister nearly falling out of her plane when the door opened in mid-air).

Hope it makes you a laugh, and I'll be back soon.

Cheers,
Sandie

MY LIVING WILL
by PAUL RUDNICK
Issue of 2005-04-25

1. If I should remain in a persistent vegetative state for more than fifteen years, I would like someone to turn off the TV.

2. If I remain motionless for an extended period and utter only guttural, meaningless sounds, I would like a Guggenheim.

3. If I am unable to recognize or interact with friends or family members, I still expect gifts.

4. If I am unable to feed, clean, or dress myself, I would like to be referred to as “Mr. Trump.”

5. Do not resuscitate me before noon.

6. If I do not respond to pinches, pinpricks, rubber mallets, or other medical stimuli, please stop laughing.

7. If I no longer respond to loved ones’ attempts at communication, ask them about our last car trip.

8. Once I am allowed to die a painless and peaceful death, I would like my organs donated to whoever can catch them.

9. If my death is particularly dramatic, I would like to be played by Hilary Swank, for a slam dunk.

10. If there is any family dispute over my medical condition, it must be settled with a dreidel.

11. Even if I remain in a persistent vegetative state for more than fifteen years, that still doesn’t mean bangs.

12. If my doctor pronounces me brain-dead, I would like to see the new Ashton Kutcher movie.

13. If I remain unconscious during a painful, lingering illness, I would like the following life lessons to be published in a book entitled “Tuesdays with Paul”:

i. Treasure every moment.

ii. Love everyone.

iii. If you bought this in hardcover, you’re an idiot.

14. I do not wish to be kept alive by any machine that has a “Popcorn” setting.

15. I would like to die at home, surrounded by my attorneys.

16. If my loved ones insist that the cost of my medical care has become an impossible burden, show them a Polaroid of their “beach shack.”

17. In lieu of flowers or donations, I would prefer rioting.

18. I would like my entire estate to become the property of my cat, Fluffy, who said, “He wouldn’t want to live like this, with that zit.”

19. Assume that, even in a coma, I can still hear discussions about my apartment.

20. If there is any talk of canonizing me, please remember that I have often held the elevator for people who were still getting their mail, that I have twice offered a cab to a woman in a fur coat even though I was totally there first, and that I always waited to make derogatory comments until after the couple with the double stroller was a block away.

21. In the event of an open coffin, I would like smoky evening eyes.

22. At my memorial service, I would like my clergyman to begin his eulogy with the words “I suppose, in a way, we all killed him.”

Be Careful What You Wish For

It’s been a busy week, even without accounting for the Pope’s funeral, Charlie & Camilla’s nuptials and revelations about John Tamihere's verbal incontinence. (JT is a Labour MP who went on record last week with his "honest" opinions and offended nearly everyone he works with as well as most of the Party's major constituencies. He may have single-handedly doomed Labor's shot at a cake walk re-election.) Last Tuesday I finally got my official assessment from the New Zealand Law Society, confirming that all I need to do to become qualified as an attorney, ahem, a barrister and solicitor, is to pass the six exams I’ve been studying for. All well and good, that’s what I was expecting and it just reinvigorated my determination to get through as much as possible before I get busy with other things.

Then, of course, other things will pop up: that evening when I got home from the library, I found an e-mail invitation to present a half-hour seminar on a commercial law topic and make myself available for interview. On April 28th. I should mention that, back in early February, I applied for a job as Lecturer in Commercial Law at the University of Auckland. It was sort of a lark, since I don’t have (a) any academic credentials or (b) any experience with New Zealand law. But I’ve always thought I’d like teaching so figured I didn’t have anything to lose.

After the initial shock wore off, I realized I’d have to go through with it. Yikes! My first reaction to any kind of public speaking opportunity is sheer, abject terror. But I managed to get through a couple of pretty harrowing presentations last year while working on Solestia. And I did speak to groups at the Bank a few times over the years. It never actually killed me. So I’ll probably live through this, too.

Once that was settled, I had to find a topic. I didn’t get much sleep that night, but I came up with half a dozen possibilities and narrowed them down to the most promising by morning. It’s a good thing I’ve been spending the last month getting acquainted with the law library here - it really helped to know my way around. I’ve been finding materials and I'm rather enjoying myself. In fact, I’m pretty excited about the whole thing. I’d really like this to work out, but I figure it’s a good experience, whatever happens.

Cheers,
Sandie

Autumn in April

The poplar trees in the park across the street are turning yellow, and their leaves are beginning to fall. The forecast has been the same for about ten days now: today will be ok, tomorrow’s gonna be cold and rainy. But so far, knock wood, tomorrow’s been as nice as yesterday.

It’s been a shame to spend such lovely days in the library, but at least it’s been pleasant walking there and back. And I can’t complain: it’s been wonderful to have the time to work on this and I’m learning a lot. Last week I began to focus on the material for the Property exam, so I’ve been studying the Torrens title registration system, NZ’s Land Transfer Act, and other stuff which wasn’t part of the curriculum where I went to law school.

The ghoulish deathwatch the media’s been keeping, first for Terri Schiavo and then for the pope, would be more appropriate for Halloween. It's finally ended, thank heaven, but apparently the pope hadn’t passed on to his reward in time for yesterday’s NZ Herald. The extra-large type headline screamed:

"BUSH TRAGEDY"

You had to read the story, of course, because it wasn’t what you expected. When we went to bed the night before it was pretty clear that the pope would be history by morning. What did that have to do with President Shrub? But wait, no: a hunter accidentally shot his best mate while stalking deer in the woods.

The folks at the NZ Herald must have thought it was close enough to April Fool’s Day to have some fun with us. And why not, except that they’re amateurs. For the best in foolish headlines, and funny stories to go with them, you don’t have to wait for April 1st - just visit America’s Finest News Source, The Onion.

Cheers,
Sandie