Asta Charles's Open Salon Blog

Do I Really Want to be a Lawyer?

Mon, 20 Sep 2010 23:09:27 -0400

At the moment, I'm going through the doldrums of what I'll classify as career PMS. I'm perpetually unhappy with a variety of things about my work, though my notion of unhappiness could change with the way the fucking ocean happens to bring in algae (or not) that day. I'm happy with my pay one minute, then the next I despise my superiors for being able to driver Mercedes' when I live in one bedroom apartment, drive a Mazda, and do all of their work for them. Then the next, "meh," I say, "it ain't so bad, at least nobody's breathing down my neck for no stinkin' TPS reports."

Or perhaps, I'll despise my coworkers vehemently for 24 to 48 hours. Thinking in my head "FUCK YOU" every time I receive a condescending email that trivializes my role, and forces me to question my personal existence. Then, when I reach the 36 hour mark, I think to myself, "aww shucks it ain't so terrible, there are jerks everywhere!" If I have to be workin' with jerks, they may as well be ones that smile at me in the bathroom.

So while all these thoughts, ideas, upsets, and frustrations roll around in my head like fat WWE wrestlers, of course they ultimately have to finish their match with some kind of solution. Today they came up with this gem:

I'll be a lawyer!

Of course my rationalization for making this an option are third-person observations of others.

My best friend's sister is a lawyer. She appears to enjoy her work, got a great job out of law school, and is totally bucks up. So far, so good.

A good friend of mine is a self-employed lawyer. He seems to be good natured about his work, despite the fact that criminal defense is rarely a morally upright position to be in, although it is necessary and constitutionally obliged. He seems to medicate these moral pangs with prescription drugs and alcohol. But is that just the kind of fellow he is? One that enjoys his vices? I'm not certain. I've never known him any other way.

Then there's the new graduate, a friend of mine from high school, that keeps moving around and hasn't kept a legal job long enough to make a sincere determination of it's staying power.

Then I started reading the law blogs. The angry law school grads full o' piss and vinegar about the schools that steered them wrong.

Here's one, titled slyly, "Why you shouldn't go to law school."

Well please, do tell! I'm likely to live the more negative, pauper's legal career. Because it's more than likely that I won't be getting into Harvard or Yale, and if I did, I have a husband to convince to move to such a place full of rich assholes. And that's not going to happen.

So first there's the cost issue: Why can't everyone just be blunt about how much lawyers do or do not make? When there's such a significant investment on the line ($38,000 per year, on average), it's okay to start talking about money. I'd really love to now how many lawyers are pulling down mid-six figures. It appears to be common, but a lot of people are also bullshit artists.

Then there are the vices: Case in point, my lawyer friend #2, mentioned above. I adore him, he's a diamond of a human, but yes, he does like his drink. And so do I, don't get me wrong. But would I love it more if I were a lawyer? Who knows, and I'm not sure my ass-size wants to take that risk.

Finally, what hit me most:

This is the job everyone wants. But no one knows what they're trying for.

That's how I feel a little bit about my job now. But moreso when I ask myself why I'd want to be a lawyer.

If I had to say one thing I'd try for, with my superb lawyer-super-power-magic, would be furthering the separation of church and state. But that's so damned specific, it's public interest to the max. I might be on my death bed, with my $150,000 in loans before that ever happened.

When I come to the end of the WWE brawl in my head, between money and happiness, I know the answer. Money made in the legal profression will never contribute to my happiness, nor my husband's. Because I wouldn't know what I'm trying for other than a fat bank account.

So, I'll just go back to trying to win the lottery.

Florida Church Considers "Koran Book Burning"

Tue, 7 Sep 2010 13:09:05 -0400

Dear Dove World Outreach Center,

First, your name is a fucking abomination.

Secondly, I'd like to be the first to congratulate you on your future cultural Darwin Award, as well as your commitment to creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. It's just lovely and we all can't wait to find out who dies because of your fucking idiocy.

Even General Petraeus is telling you it's a bad idea. Part of his job is to be culturally well versed in the lives and minds of people from whom he needs cooperation (i.e. actual Muslims).This is the guy that has people on the ground whose mission is to kill if threatened or in danger. He has a great deal to lose if you, religious zealot nutjobs on American soil lose your minds and decide that it's okay to risk everyone else's lives for the sake of an ignorant statement.

Are you the new Westboro Baptist Church? Do you want that press? Do you really think that's good?

The unfortunate part is that your inflammatory antics, should you actually go through with them, affect troops and innocent civilians much more so than they do you.

You are everything un-Christlike. You crazy assholes are going to get more people in large cities like New York and Los Angeles, killed.

In short, I'd greatly enjoy it if you moved your congregation to Ground Zero.

Bye,

Asta

Wait, You're in the NFL Now?

Fri, 3 Sep 2010 03:09:26 -0400

Something I've always truly, deeply treasured - like the love of my freakin' parents - is giving credit where credit is due. This can be a pat on the back, a "hey good going buddy", or even a 3rd grade style gold star.

Anything. Just a little properly attributed recognition is nice.

I am, as you might imagine, especially touchy about this as my job. I let a lot of recognition pass me by, simply so as to not cause a stir. But guess what? Those kick ass projects that I complete go straight on my resume, because I did them dammit, and didn't get paid enough to keep my damn mouth shut.

That was a digression of slight anger, please excuse me, because I do have a corresponding point.

The description of one's favorite sportsball team as "we" boggles my mind.

BOGGLES, I tell you!

It's like my brain is on 80s commercialized illegal drugs, with the misunderstanding of how all of a sudden, through the mysticism of imagination, you and your team (i.e. we) just scored a touchdown.

'Cause...I thought...you were here...next to me...drinking a beer. I don't see you exibiting any specific athletic skill, nor are you even in the stadium.

So "we" won the game? You're in the NFL now? I had no idea my friends were in the NFL.

If you did win, and I'm sitting here next to you, can I win the game too? Can I be part of "we"? I can't, because I probably don't even know which sport we're watching. So to me, all sports are "sportsball".

(At this point I have to pause and say that this logic does actually apply to college sports of the college that you went to, because technically you did pay into that empire and have thereore contributed, in a financial way, to the success of the team).

Maybe you're thinking, "oh but the camaraderie of fandom contributes to the motivation of the team!"

Maybe so, maybe no. I still have to wonder if the team can hear you in a bar in Westwood when they're playing in Pittsburgh. Maybe it's okay because the Neilsen ratings can hear you, but you don't get your own specific rating point if you're in bar. Rating points = love.

Of course I'm going to have to turn around and play devil's advocate on myself because there really is no harm in this whole practice of taking credit for the team's work. Unlike me, the team is getting paid millions of dollars. I'm not getting paid millions of dollars for other people to take credit for my work and join my "team" willy nilly with reckless abandon! If I were, I'd happily give away the rights to my life, work, and possibly my first-born (joke's on them, there won't be one, suckers). Yes, at some point, I can be bought.

And so, I'll spend the next football season with the phrase "we _____ in that game" grating my logic-feelers. And maybe, working on getting paid more so that other people can take credit for my work. Ah middle management.

Los Angeles: I Quit

Tue, 31 Aug 2010 00:08:24 -0400

And it is with a heavy heart that I must turn in my resignation from my post as miserable resident of Los Angeles.

Wait, no.

SFX: Record scratch.

No, that's not right. I haven't a heavy heart at all, it's quite light in fact. Light like whipped cream on an Ikea frozen yogurt treat. I've been waiting for this for at least two years. I was in the midst of planning my jail break style exodus when I met my future husband. This of course sort of stalled my efforts. I say sort of because we agreed we would, in the future, plan to leave.

When we were getting to know each other, our main mode of conversation was my griping about LA. The people, the weather (I hate the heat and I have a major boner for the rain), the lack of non-puke covered public transit, and the constant feeling of financial failure despite doing all that you fucking can to succeed. Yes, we agreed that we hated all those things. And so now, we have agreed on a timeline for escape.

And in all likelihood, barring any possibility of emigrating to Canada, we will move northward to the Pacific North West. My homeland.

I feel like this is my Alcatraz. I'll swim with the sharks in the bay god dammit! I've been planning my breach of security for years now, and finally a date of expiry has been written in stone.

And so, when we announced this intent to our good friend Pedro, he seemed shocked.

"Why would you want to move there? People just get old there."

"Well, people get old everywhere, and it's not like we're some special breed of person that is getting younger." I replied.

Jab and I continued on our patented duet rant as to why we must get the fuck out of LA.

"It's hot."

"We want public transit."

"We want a smaller wealth gap."

"We like the rain."

"We want to get out while we're young."

"We want to be able to buy a place so we can have a dog."

And the list goes on.

But the most important fact is that it just isn't worth the money to be here. We pay a premium just to be in LA, and why? If there's anything, maybe it's the proximity to surfing, but I don't surf so I don't care.

I always wondered why so many Californians move to Oregon. When I was a kid, my dad even invented a product that was featured on several local news shows called "The Californian Detection Kit". It poked fun at everything that was stereotypical about Californians at the time (the late 80s). An offense to fine smelling air, blonde hair, dark skin combined with blonde hair, and the willingness to pay for bottled water (at the time, a sin). Through this, as well as his general bitching about Californians, I always wondered why they wanted so badly, and in such droves, to come to the northwest. I even misunderstood this so deeply, that I did the opposite, and moved to Los Angeles.

And now, it has become all too clear to me. Quietude, weather, the stretching of a dollar, seeing rain actually wash dirt and leaves away instead of people with their damned hoses. The idea is all incredibly relieving to me.

As my future husband says, "It'll be good for my lifehappy."

He's not retarded, he's just creatively articulate. I promise.

I've done my time. I've learned my lessons and had my experiences. I have the great clusterfuck of Los Angeles to thank for that. Of course I'll keep learning things, I'll keep having experiences, I'm not leaving town just to get old and die. I'm leaving town to get back some some freedom for my wallet and my brain.

I'm drafting a semi-fictional novel

Sun, 29 Aug 2010 15:08:26 -0400

As those of you who still read my blog will attest to, I haven't been writing as much as I used to. I need more fuel for my fire, dammit. So I am going to give myself a challenge and work on something I have not been previously successful with: a semi-fictional novel.

As I finish sections of it, I will post them on this blog. Please feel free to give feedback, and realizes that revisions may be posted at will.

The plot is essentially this:

A young trust fund kid loses all his trust fund money by way of foolish stock trades. He has been in punk bands for years, yet fails to embrace the ethos of punk. He lacks emotional depth required to do this, as he's been sort of paralyzed by his wealth: he believes it is his only redeeming quality. At a party, he meets a brainy girl swimming in a gaggle of JAPs (his typical sexual interest), that may change everything. Maybe, she'll open up his brain long enough to plant the seeds of what is punk, and maybe, that will save his apparent downward emotional spiral. What remains to be seen is if she's the girl of his dreams and if she can be the catalyst for the creation of other redeeming qualities within him.

The point of the story is the value of a punk ethic in society. Without it, we change nothing, we question nothing, and our depth as individuals are limited. It's important to each and every one of us, to thought innovation, and changing the way that things are.

All of you at OS will probably understand why this is, after all, it's what you do almost every day when you write.

Stay tuned.