If you read CityBeat this week you also read the story that someone got pissed off about something and did something minor to someone else. It then would appear that 'someone else' happens to be someone Kevin Osborne (of CityBeat) knows, so what better way to get revenge then to have a personal spat aired in public.
I don't know how or why this is news but obvious problem is that this does nothing but make the local Gay Rights movement look divided between adults and whining children. The Adults know how to act and know when to take action. The Children complain when the Adults don't want to waste their time on pointless and costly symbolism. It appears the Children leaked an email to Kevin Osborne and he parsed it up into an attack on the Adults. Someone has a bee in his bonnet about the Adults not pushing the charge to force City Hall into fighting a culture war battle over an ant hill. No, this isn't news, this is petty personal bullshit that should be left alone.
What is the point of an article that shows trivial division in the Gay Rights movement? It comes across as a purposeful ploy to bring about change in the leadership of the movement, locally. One group wants to be Adults and actually achieve goals. The other group wants to break out the AK-47's and go to war over a minor issue, with no hope of actually achieving anything, outside of wrestling control of the movement from the Adults. Going to war over trivial pursuits does nothing but gain you more enemies. The Gay Rights movement is not about war, last I checked, but what do I know, I am just a possible future "breeder."
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
Job Opening(?)
I know another blogger has cornered the market on posting craigslist ads, but I couldn't resist this one, under the Jobs--Legal/Paralegal category:
The ad promises compensation of $121,350 (which is the salary for a Common Pleas court judge).
I didn't know you could become a judge by responding to a craigslist ad.
Judicial opening on Common Pleas Court of Hamilton County, Ohio. Job applicants must be residents of Hamilton County Ohio, registered to vote, and licensed to practice in the state of Ohio for at least 10 years and in good standing. Send resume and copy of Supreme Court of Ohio bar card indicating good standing.
The ad promises compensation of $121,350 (which is the salary for a Common Pleas court judge).
I didn't know you could become a judge by responding to a craigslist ad.
It Must Be Fall . . .
. . . because I just ordered my Thanksgiving pumpkin pie from Fred & Gari's.
I don't even have plans for Thanksgiving yet, I just know I want that pie to be involved.
I don't even have plans for Thanksgiving yet, I just know I want that pie to be involved.
COAST: We Demand a Vote, Except If You Vote Democratic
In an attempt to help Republicans, the Hypocritical, anti-government, and anti-everything group COAST has joined the Conservative movement to disenfranchise Democratic voters. They are part of the Conservative movement, so this is really just the local shock-troops making a call to arms in the fight against Democracy.
Yes, COAST and other Conservatives are trying to prevent Democratic voters from voting in this election. What are they mad about? They are mad because the Hamilton County Board of Elections is going to be open for early voting on Sundays. I guess drinking beer and watching football is good on Sunday, but doing your civic duty is not, in the eyes of the extreme right-wing. Alas, local control of elections appears to be a bad thing. Nothing stops other counties from doing the same thing Hamilton County has done, but that type of self-determination is a COAST way of thinking.
Yes, Sunday voting would benefit every voter, Republican-Democratic-Independent-Other, but that doesn't matter. COAST and other conservatives believe that the more difficult we make it to vote, the more difficult it will be for working and middle class people to vote, who trend Democratic. Why stop voters from voting on Sundays? Well, many employers and corporate managers don't like giving people the required time off to vote, unless they are voting the way they want. In the case of Employers and corporations the voting preference would traditionally be more Republican than not. Republicans have been against all efforts to make it easier to vote, including early voting and voting by mail.
In reality most middle and larger size companies do a good job overall of staying out of the voting lives of voters. Individual managers and supervisors are hit and miss, along with smaller companies that rely on the attitude of the owner. Early and mail voting have been a huge success and I would bet most companies think it works far better than having to give workers any time to vote on Election Day.
COAST should be asking why other counties are not doing the same thing! If the issue is that other counties don't have the population to warrant the additional hours on Sundays, then complaints should be dismissed.
This shouldn't be a partisan issue. Republicans should be in favor of helping foster every opportunity for our citizens to vote. It clearly shows their intent when they fight to make it more difficult to vote for those more likely NOT to vote for their candidates. That is not Democracy. The problem is that today's conservative Republicans are not interested in Democracy.
Finally, in case you missed it: COAST is the group that spearheaded the effort behind "We Demand a Vote", the coalition demanding the public vote on various local issues, instead of elected officials. This was, on its face, an effort to make our local government more "democratic" in a non-representative and more mob-like manner. I wonder if the local Green Party or the Local NAACP, who also worked with COAST, will denounce COAST and local Republicans for efforts to disfranchise voters? Mr. Smitherman, this is your cue to issue a press release. I'd ask the Green Party, but I can't expect a political party that can't field a basketball team to have the time to issue press releases on voting rights.
Yes, COAST and other Conservatives are trying to prevent Democratic voters from voting in this election. What are they mad about? They are mad because the Hamilton County Board of Elections is going to be open for early voting on Sundays. I guess drinking beer and watching football is good on Sunday, but doing your civic duty is not, in the eyes of the extreme right-wing. Alas, local control of elections appears to be a bad thing. Nothing stops other counties from doing the same thing Hamilton County has done, but that type of self-determination is a COAST way of thinking.
Yes, Sunday voting would benefit every voter, Republican-Democratic-Independent-Other, but that doesn't matter. COAST and other conservatives believe that the more difficult we make it to vote, the more difficult it will be for working and middle class people to vote, who trend Democratic. Why stop voters from voting on Sundays? Well, many employers and corporate managers don't like giving people the required time off to vote, unless they are voting the way they want. In the case of Employers and corporations the voting preference would traditionally be more Republican than not. Republicans have been against all efforts to make it easier to vote, including early voting and voting by mail.
In reality most middle and larger size companies do a good job overall of staying out of the voting lives of voters. Individual managers and supervisors are hit and miss, along with smaller companies that rely on the attitude of the owner. Early and mail voting have been a huge success and I would bet most companies think it works far better than having to give workers any time to vote on Election Day.
COAST should be asking why other counties are not doing the same thing! If the issue is that other counties don't have the population to warrant the additional hours on Sundays, then complaints should be dismissed.
This shouldn't be a partisan issue. Republicans should be in favor of helping foster every opportunity for our citizens to vote. It clearly shows their intent when they fight to make it more difficult to vote for those more likely NOT to vote for their candidates. That is not Democracy. The problem is that today's conservative Republicans are not interested in Democracy.
Finally, in case you missed it: COAST is the group that spearheaded the effort behind "We Demand a Vote", the coalition demanding the public vote on various local issues, instead of elected officials. This was, on its face, an effort to make our local government more "democratic" in a non-representative and more mob-like manner. I wonder if the local Green Party or the Local NAACP, who also worked with COAST, will denounce COAST and local Republicans for efforts to disfranchise voters? Mr. Smitherman, this is your cue to issue a press release. I'd ask the Green Party, but I can't expect a political party that can't field a basketball team to have the time to issue press releases on voting rights.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Not So Good Eats: Fountain Square Chipotle
Has anyone else noticed a marked deterioration in the level of service at the Fountain Square Chipotle in the last few months?
I'm a frequent patron of that restaurant--far more frequent than I should be, perhaps. So it's possible that I'm hyper-sensitive to changes in the quality of the experience and food there. But I don't think so.
When the downtown Chipotle first opened, I thought it was great. The staff was friendly and the service was good. Lately, though, the opposite is true. The food prep areas always seem dirty. The line seem to constantly run out of food, making customers wait while more ingredients are prepared. The people behind the counter vary from indifferent to discourteous; the last thing on their minds seems to be waiting on customers. It's now common to feel like your order is a distraction from some conversation being carried on between employees. On a recent visit, the man working the cash register made me wait while he went somewhere behind the kitchen and retrieved his cell phone, with which he sent text messages while he assisted me and other customers.
You'd think Chipotle would view the Fountain Square restaurant as its flagship store in Cincinnati, since that is the one that will get a lot of tourist traffic, including people from areas of the country that don't presently have a Chipotle. Right now, though, I'd just as soon drive up to Clifton or Stetson Square than deal with the downtown store. Or better yet, skip Chipotle altogether, head five blocks away, and get a chorizo burrito from Taqueria Mercado.
I'm a frequent patron of that restaurant--far more frequent than I should be, perhaps. So it's possible that I'm hyper-sensitive to changes in the quality of the experience and food there. But I don't think so.
When the downtown Chipotle first opened, I thought it was great. The staff was friendly and the service was good. Lately, though, the opposite is true. The food prep areas always seem dirty. The line seem to constantly run out of food, making customers wait while more ingredients are prepared. The people behind the counter vary from indifferent to discourteous; the last thing on their minds seems to be waiting on customers. It's now common to feel like your order is a distraction from some conversation being carried on between employees. On a recent visit, the man working the cash register made me wait while he went somewhere behind the kitchen and retrieved his cell phone, with which he sent text messages while he assisted me and other customers.
You'd think Chipotle would view the Fountain Square restaurant as its flagship store in Cincinnati, since that is the one that will get a lot of tourist traffic, including people from areas of the country that don't presently have a Chipotle. Right now, though, I'd just as soon drive up to Clifton or Stetson Square than deal with the downtown store. Or better yet, skip Chipotle altogether, head five blocks away, and get a chorizo burrito from Taqueria Mercado.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Seven Years
For each of the last two years on today's date, I've been tempted to write something like what appears below. For various reasons--not the least of which is that we just don't do much personal blogging here--I haven't. But this year, for some reason, I feel compelled to do so. Or maybe just more able to. My apologies for this lengthy, self-indulgent post.
Seven years ago today, my only sibling--my sister, Julie--died in a car accident. She was 27 at the time. She was traveling between the two families she loved the most: after spending a long weekend with her boyfriend and his parents in Pittsburgh, she was on her way to our parents' house for dinner in New Jersey. Julie worked in Brooklyn and lived on Long Island, so she'd planned to spend the night in New Jersey, head into work the next morning, and then return to her own home.
Julie had managed to touch a lot of people in her 27 years. Following her graduation from college (which, unlike me, she completed in four years), she joined the Peace Corps, living and teaching in Burkina Faso, a small nation in West Africa. She worked for a few years as a youth minister in Presbyterian churches in Pennsylvania and New York. Eventually, she returned to school, earned her master's degree, and became a teacher. The 2003-04 school year was her first as a full-time teacher; she taught English at a public school for gifted and talented kids.
Julie's death was devastating for me, as it was for so many others. I can remember that terrible, terrible phone call from my parents as though it were yesterday. I was talking on my cell phone with my best friend from law school, chatting about women and football. Monday Night Football was on the TV; the Bulger-led Rams were playing. My land line rang; the caller ID said it was my parents. Thinking they just wanted to chat at the end of the holiday weekend, I'd told my friend to hang on for a minute (and that I'd ask my folks if I could call them back). Then my dad's voice: Donald, I have terrible news.
Still without any premonition of what was to come, I told my friend I'd need to call him back. Back to my dad: Your sister has been in an accident. Oh my gosh, I thought, she'd just gotten a new car, had she totaled it already? Where is she, I asked. Donald, it was bad. She didn't make it. Julie died.
With those last two words, my world changed. I think it's only recently I've realized how much. Part of who I was--who I am, who I'd always been--was Julie's brother. I don't think she knew exactly how much that was true. I was a year ahead of her in school. We'd gone to different grade schools, but the same high school. Since I was there first, a lot of teachers came to know her as "Donald's sister." But socially, the opposite was true. Among the student body, I was Julie's brother. To this day, I have friends (or at least "Facebook friends") who stay in touch with me only out of a sense of loyalty to Julie.
In October 2003, I'd been living in West Virginia for a month. I'd graduated from law school the previous May, and had just begun a year-long clerkship for a federal district court judge. It was supposed to be a great year, full of intellectual challenges and the beginning of learning my craft. Instead, work was a necessary distraction from what seemed to be a huge hole in my soul. The only people I knew in town were the people I worked with, and I'd only known them for a few weeks. Thank goodness that they are among the most caring, wonderful people I've ever encountered.
Work was a useful distraction for a while, but it, too, eventually became an all-too-painful reminder of what my sister had meant to me. As kids, Julie and I fought as often as any closely-aged siblings do. But as adults, we'd been really close, even though we weren't living in the same state. We regularly talked about our personal and work lives. She was beginning her career as a teacher, and I was beginning mine as a lawyer. We called to tell each other about the cool stuff we were doing. And suddenly, that was gone. Six months after my sister's death, I was sworn in as a lawyer at a ceremony in Columbus. And I couldn't stop my eyes from overflowing with tears. I couldn't shake the thought: my sister didn't live to see me become a lawyer.
It took a while--longer than I could have imagined--for the wound left by my sister's death to begin to harden into a scar. As anyone embarks upon their profession, they want to believe that what they're doing matters, that their work has meaning. But I couldn't shake the feeling that nothing mattered. After all, my sister had done as much as could be expected of her, and she had still died far too young. Making matters worse, probably, was that the circumstances of her accident yielded no one to blame. It was just a freak occurrence, one that 99% of the time would have resulted in a fender-bender or no accident at all.
Learning to be a lawyer (which is really what a lawyer does for his first two years in practice) is tough. It's even harder when you no longer have a firm conviction in the value of your profession--or any profession, for that matter.
I'm always amazed by the people who find meaning in tragedy. I've been moved, over the last couple years, by Kate the Great's discussions of her niece's illness and death. Why couldn't I find such serenity? Why couldn't I let go of the sadness, the bitterness? I remember the platitudes offered by well-meaning people: God needed another teacher in Heaven was a common one. I wanted to scream back, Really? I can think of a couple He could have had instead.
Work wasn't the only hard thing. When I returned to Cincinnati in 2004, my friends welcomed me back with open arms. Or at least, they tried to. I'd never been a really big party animal, but for a long time after Julie died, the thought of just hanging out with a bunch of people was intolerable. One or two was OK, but more than that? Couldn't do it. Weddings were out of the question. Every time I received an invitation (to a wedding, or a party, or just a happy hour), I really wanted to come. I'd even say yes. But I usually found a last minute reason--a headache, a work project, undone laundry--to skip out. It became so common, my friends had a name for saying you'd show up somewhere and then not doing so: "pulling a Caster." I avoided meeting new people. First dates were unbearable; inevitably, the question comes up: Do you have any brothers or sisters? How was I supposed to answer that? No. Oh, so you're an only child. Well..... Or: Yes, a sister. Really? What does she do? Umm.....
Thanks goodness for the patience--and loyalty--of those friends. My best friend--the one I'd been talking to when my dad called that terrible night--was amazing. He knew when to call, when to worry a bit if he'd not heard from me. He knew when to prompt me to talk about how I was dealing with things, and when to talk about anything but. And over time--a long, long time--things got better. Over the last couple years, I'm no longer just accepting invitations, I've begun actually showing up. I take joy in being an attorney again. As I begin a new chapter in my life and my career (more on that in the next few days), I'm filled with a sense of optimism. For a long time, change--no matter what kind--only brought a sense of dread. I enjoy my friendships and the company of others again. I'm not sure I could have ever predicted this when I chose to make it my home, but it turns out that Cincinnati was a good place to learn to live again.
I can't say that "hole in my soul" has healed or closed completely. That will never happen. But I've learned to fill it with other things. I've learned that it's OK to let go of some things, and grasp hold of others. I've learned that it's OK to move forward--and that moving forward isn't the same thing as "moving on."
So why do I write this here, exposing myself in such a public way? I don't know. Partially because I'm sure there's someone reading this who is where I was five or six years ago. Someone who experienced some loss recently, who feels stuck in the mud, and who can't seem to gain any traction. My message: keep the wheels turning. It gets better. You'll start to gain some momentum. Just be patient with yourself. And for those of who know someone in that spot: don't give up on them. Keep throwing them lifelines. Eventually, they'll grab on to one of them, and let you help pull them onto solid ground. Just be patient with them.
Seven years ago today, my only sibling--my sister, Julie--died in a car accident. She was 27 at the time. She was traveling between the two families she loved the most: after spending a long weekend with her boyfriend and his parents in Pittsburgh, she was on her way to our parents' house for dinner in New Jersey. Julie worked in Brooklyn and lived on Long Island, so she'd planned to spend the night in New Jersey, head into work the next morning, and then return to her own home.
Julie had managed to touch a lot of people in her 27 years. Following her graduation from college (which, unlike me, she completed in four years), she joined the Peace Corps, living and teaching in Burkina Faso, a small nation in West Africa. She worked for a few years as a youth minister in Presbyterian churches in Pennsylvania and New York. Eventually, she returned to school, earned her master's degree, and became a teacher. The 2003-04 school year was her first as a full-time teacher; she taught English at a public school for gifted and talented kids.
Julie's death was devastating for me, as it was for so many others. I can remember that terrible, terrible phone call from my parents as though it were yesterday. I was talking on my cell phone with my best friend from law school, chatting about women and football. Monday Night Football was on the TV; the Bulger-led Rams were playing. My land line rang; the caller ID said it was my parents. Thinking they just wanted to chat at the end of the holiday weekend, I'd told my friend to hang on for a minute (and that I'd ask my folks if I could call them back). Then my dad's voice: Donald, I have terrible news.
Still without any premonition of what was to come, I told my friend I'd need to call him back. Back to my dad: Your sister has been in an accident. Oh my gosh, I thought, she'd just gotten a new car, had she totaled it already? Where is she, I asked. Donald, it was bad. She didn't make it. Julie died.
With those last two words, my world changed. I think it's only recently I've realized how much. Part of who I was--who I am, who I'd always been--was Julie's brother. I don't think she knew exactly how much that was true. I was a year ahead of her in school. We'd gone to different grade schools, but the same high school. Since I was there first, a lot of teachers came to know her as "Donald's sister." But socially, the opposite was true. Among the student body, I was Julie's brother. To this day, I have friends (or at least "Facebook friends") who stay in touch with me only out of a sense of loyalty to Julie.
In October 2003, I'd been living in West Virginia for a month. I'd graduated from law school the previous May, and had just begun a year-long clerkship for a federal district court judge. It was supposed to be a great year, full of intellectual challenges and the beginning of learning my craft. Instead, work was a necessary distraction from what seemed to be a huge hole in my soul. The only people I knew in town were the people I worked with, and I'd only known them for a few weeks. Thank goodness that they are among the most caring, wonderful people I've ever encountered.
Work was a useful distraction for a while, but it, too, eventually became an all-too-painful reminder of what my sister had meant to me. As kids, Julie and I fought as often as any closely-aged siblings do. But as adults, we'd been really close, even though we weren't living in the same state. We regularly talked about our personal and work lives. She was beginning her career as a teacher, and I was beginning mine as a lawyer. We called to tell each other about the cool stuff we were doing. And suddenly, that was gone. Six months after my sister's death, I was sworn in as a lawyer at a ceremony in Columbus. And I couldn't stop my eyes from overflowing with tears. I couldn't shake the thought: my sister didn't live to see me become a lawyer.
It took a while--longer than I could have imagined--for the wound left by my sister's death to begin to harden into a scar. As anyone embarks upon their profession, they want to believe that what they're doing matters, that their work has meaning. But I couldn't shake the feeling that nothing mattered. After all, my sister had done as much as could be expected of her, and she had still died far too young. Making matters worse, probably, was that the circumstances of her accident yielded no one to blame. It was just a freak occurrence, one that 99% of the time would have resulted in a fender-bender or no accident at all.
Learning to be a lawyer (which is really what a lawyer does for his first two years in practice) is tough. It's even harder when you no longer have a firm conviction in the value of your profession--or any profession, for that matter.
I'm always amazed by the people who find meaning in tragedy. I've been moved, over the last couple years, by Kate the Great's discussions of her niece's illness and death. Why couldn't I find such serenity? Why couldn't I let go of the sadness, the bitterness? I remember the platitudes offered by well-meaning people: God needed another teacher in Heaven was a common one. I wanted to scream back, Really? I can think of a couple He could have had instead.
Work wasn't the only hard thing. When I returned to Cincinnati in 2004, my friends welcomed me back with open arms. Or at least, they tried to. I'd never been a really big party animal, but for a long time after Julie died, the thought of just hanging out with a bunch of people was intolerable. One or two was OK, but more than that? Couldn't do it. Weddings were out of the question. Every time I received an invitation (to a wedding, or a party, or just a happy hour), I really wanted to come. I'd even say yes. But I usually found a last minute reason--a headache, a work project, undone laundry--to skip out. It became so common, my friends had a name for saying you'd show up somewhere and then not doing so: "pulling a Caster." I avoided meeting new people. First dates were unbearable; inevitably, the question comes up: Do you have any brothers or sisters? How was I supposed to answer that? No. Oh, so you're an only child. Well..... Or: Yes, a sister. Really? What does she do? Umm.....
Thanks goodness for the patience--and loyalty--of those friends. My best friend--the one I'd been talking to when my dad called that terrible night--was amazing. He knew when to call, when to worry a bit if he'd not heard from me. He knew when to prompt me to talk about how I was dealing with things, and when to talk about anything but. And over time--a long, long time--things got better. Over the last couple years, I'm no longer just accepting invitations, I've begun actually showing up. I take joy in being an attorney again. As I begin a new chapter in my life and my career (more on that in the next few days), I'm filled with a sense of optimism. For a long time, change--no matter what kind--only brought a sense of dread. I enjoy my friendships and the company of others again. I'm not sure I could have ever predicted this when I chose to make it my home, but it turns out that Cincinnati was a good place to learn to live again.
I can't say that "hole in my soul" has healed or closed completely. That will never happen. But I've learned to fill it with other things. I've learned that it's OK to let go of some things, and grasp hold of others. I've learned that it's OK to move forward--and that moving forward isn't the same thing as "moving on."
So why do I write this here, exposing myself in such a public way? I don't know. Partially because I'm sure there's someone reading this who is where I was five or six years ago. Someone who experienced some loss recently, who feels stuck in the mud, and who can't seem to gain any traction. My message: keep the wheels turning. It gets better. You'll start to gain some momentum. Just be patient with yourself. And for those of who know someone in that spot: don't give up on them. Keep throwing them lifelines. Eventually, they'll grab on to one of them, and let you help pull them onto solid ground. Just be patient with them.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Another Challenger for 2011 City Council
Yvette Simpson announced last week that she is a candidate for the 2011 Cincinnati City Council race. By my tally, that makes her the second non-incumbent to announce. Her campaign's Facebook page is here.
Yvette is a 2004 graduate of the University of Cincinnati College of Law, where I came to know her as an intelligent, hard-working, passionate individual. If she doesn't win a Council seat next year, it won't be for lack of effort.
I haven't seen news of this in the traditional media or on any of the local blogs, yet. (Griff's lack of coverage is surprising, since Yvette is a 2000 Miami grad and is currently the Director of Pre-Law Programs at MU.)
For those of you keeping a geopolitical scoreboard, she is (I believe) a downtown resident.
I wish my friend Yvette good luck in next year's race.
Yvette is a 2004 graduate of the University of Cincinnati College of Law, where I came to know her as an intelligent, hard-working, passionate individual. If she doesn't win a Council seat next year, it won't be for lack of effort.
I haven't seen news of this in the traditional media or on any of the local blogs, yet. (Griff's lack of coverage is surprising, since Yvette is a 2000 Miami grad and is currently the Director of Pre-Law Programs at MU.)
For those of you keeping a geopolitical scoreboard, she is (I believe) a downtown resident.
I wish my friend Yvette good luck in next year's race.
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