I'm not quite sure where this post will go, and it may be somewhat lengthy, because I have a series of somewhat disconnected thoughts, which have as a loose connecting thread Con Law, which is something that I could ramble on forever (OK, for quite a while) about. I'm going to try not to do it, but I enjoy it and some of the examples are kind of fun. And I just realized I should explain that Con Law is legalese for Constitutional Law, not about swindlers!

First of all, on a general basis about me: The darned paper that I've made reference to before in this space is now in Professor Kennedy's hands. (OK, more accurately, in his secretary's.) His note to me about it said that my final grade would be based on my revisions, but the good news is I don't get a grade, he just has to give me two research credits, which he will. I did make some revisions, although mainly they were getting things out of the passive voice and reformatting my footnotes. However, some of the suggestions he made sent me off on a wild goose chase -- for instance, he suggested I look up something called "The Coke's Institutes" which would discuss incompetency. (Kylie, have you ever dealt with the Coke's Institutes?)

Well, this led me into the law library's second floor, where I soon realized the book I sought was in the section on English law. Now, note please that my paper contained half a sentence on how the idea of guardians ad litem had its root in English concepts; that was it. But here I was, immersed in Merry, Verry Olde English Law.

And I mean very olde. I had volumes in my hand that, no joke, were published sometime in the 1800s. I saw volumes on maritime regulation in Great Britain, which I'm sure will be jolly good fun when I decide to take a teatime cruise down the Thames, but were of absolutely no use in researching this paper. I did see books on British domestic relations law, but I'm more interested in curing our system than theirs. And I never could find the damn Coke's Institutes, even with the call number in hand. I do, still, hold out hope to find a slimmed-down version of such book, which will be the Diet Coke's Institute.

Anyway, I'm very pleased to be done with the paper because my need to complete it was infringing on my study schedule from BarBri, which was already a little set back by my frenetic schedule of earlier this week. Fortunately, the schedule is clear, the paper is done, and I'm settled in. I was originally going home tonight for the weekend, but have shortened that to going back tomorrow evening to celebrate Father's Day early (my brother is leaving for camp next week so won't be around for it.) That gave me tonight and tomorrow to do some studying. Plus, I plan to do more at home on Sunday; stay overnight Sunday night, and head back Monday morning.

The past two days, I've spent in the Con Law review. (You were wondering if I was ever going to get to Con Law, weren't you?) BarBri's Con Law review (in Ohio, at least) was taught by a woman named Mary Cheh (pronounced Chay), a professor at George Washington University. (I should have met her while I was there...inside joke, I went to American University but some people are confused...)

Mary, sadly, was fairly ponderous, long-winded and dry. She occasionally dropped a hint that she might have a humorous bone in her body, although one time was very unintentional. The first time was intentional, when she was discussing how, years ago, Congress required states to permit drivers to turn right on red. "I might point out," she said, "that in the District of Columbia, we've modified this to include left on red and straight on red as well." (This is one of the reasons I never had a car in DC.) As someone at AU's student newspaper, The Eagle, wrote once, "I didn't know that stop signs were optional in the District of Columbia."

At some point, she was talking about some concept and decided to draw a comparison -- and, as a result, drew howls from her audience in Toledo. (Because these people are all on videotape, it allows us to be particularly merciless, although I think her live audience probably didn't cut her much slack on this, either.) "When I was a kid," she said, "we played this game, and I'm not sure if you've ever played it, and what we'd do is we'd take our hands and throw symbols." (Does this sound like something the Lucas County Gang Task Force might be interested in? I wondered to myself.) "If you made a fist, that was a rock. If you put your hand out like that, that was paper. If you took two fingers like this, it was scissors."

Yeah, rock, paper, scissors...that definitely went the way of whist, didn't it? (Actually, a student at the University of Toledo recently participated in the national rock, paper, scissors competition, thus proving one of Bassett's Unalterable Laws of the Universe: If you search hard enough, there is a national competition for everything.)

That was the major excitement yesterday, although some people got pretty excited in another way when she concluded the section she said would wrap up the day and decided that talking about state action would be a great bridge to lead us into today. Bridge into troubled waters, was what that was.

(You might guess that a bridge that goes into any waters is not a good thing. And you would be right. So it was with the Cheh Bridge.)

Today, she made a comment that was probably true but also very disturbing, and may one day soon form the basis of another post here. "From time to time on the bar exam, you will see someone who is a saint, a selfless person, a completely sympathetic person. On the bar exam, this person gets nothing." Cruel, although I have to say I have evidence to support that this is not a bad representation of what legal life can be like. Grrrr.

Today was some of the fun stuff -- ballot access, redistricting, and my particular favorite -- freedom of speech. By the way, when redistricting, y'all should know that it's unconstitutional to draw lines to suppress voting power of parties. So, I'm really glad that doesn't happen, Texas.

Freedom of speech, oh how I love thee. I guess freedom of speech appeals to the sensibility of me that wants the guy in authority to get it. Plaintiffs in freedom of speech cases are not generally sympathetic characters. You've got your flag burners, your defamers, your huddled Nazis yearning to march in Skokie.

Now, I disagree completely with flag burners, defamatory statements (as a victim of some) and certainly with Nazis. I also think it's completely against everything we as a country stand for to try to shut any of these people up. I think you let them go on and they will expose themelves for the idiots they often are.

Good speech is not, generally, polite speech. When I write, I try to write with verve and wit and keep you interested. Paul Robert Cohen was trying to keep people interested, too, and in the process, created Cohen v. California. (I love this case for whimsical reasons.)

The year was 1968. People were all stirred up about the draft, and, Mr. Cohen was, too. Not content to write a letter to his local newspaper, he decided to be slightly more bold and put on a jacket saying "F--- the draft." (I don't know where Paul got "F--- the draft" stitched on to his jacket, and I should point out that there were not dashes in Paul's version. Perhaps he was handy with a needle and thread.) Not content to admire himself in the mirror, he decided to venture out into the world.

Now, were I inclined to don such a garment and venture outside (which I'm not!), I'd probably peer cautiously out of my apartment, take a few tentative steps out, pronounce my principles satisfied, turn right around and head back inside, pronouncing my principles satisfied. Not Mr. Cohen. He decided to wander into the Los Angeles County Courthouse, where he was observed wearing the jacket and was arrested for "offensive conduct."

The Supreme Cout held, basically, that a simple public display of that four-letter word could not be made criminal. I tend to agree...but that's not why I love this case.

My first reason is the reaction of the Supreme Court justices. The Chief Justice at the time, Warren Burger, concerned with the decorum and sensibilities of the august institution that is the Supreme Court, advised the attorney arguing Cohen's position that the Court was "familiar with the facts."

Translation: "Don't you dare drop the F-bomb in my Supreme Court."

The attorney, a First Amendment advocate named Melville Nimmer, felt his position wouldn't carry the day unless he uttered the word in the Supreme Court because, "[i]f a well-respected attorney could speak those words in the Supreme Court, should a young man go to jail for displaying them on his jacket in a courthouse?" And so, Nimmer (after, I presume, taking a very deep breath and probably wondering if he was about to win a free trip to Fort Leavenworth) recited the facts, complete with a statement of exactly what his client's jacket had said.

As it turned out, he didn't end up in Fort Leavenworth (although in The Brethren, Bob Woodward reported Burger was none too happy) and won his case. Conservative Justice John Marshall Harlan wrote for the majority, "[O]ne man's vulgarity is another's lyric."

My other whimsical reason for loving Cohen is that every time I hear it, I have to tell a great story that is told in the biography of Woody Hayes, Buckeye, to give an idea of what the fervor against perennial rival Michigan is like in Columbus. In the mid-seventies, a young man was arrested for driving around with a bumper sticker on his car that said "F--- Michigan." (As with Mr. Cohen's jacket, the dashes were not present in the original.) He was arrested under some statute that indicated he was being disorderly by making offensive statements.

The judge dismissed the case, finding that the f-word means "to have sexual intercourse," and that, taken literally, "F--- Michigan" thus expressed a desire to have sexual intercourse with the entire state of Michigan. This, as everyone knows, is an impossibility, and thus, no one could be offended by it.

I've always thought the far better argument for dismissing this case was on contemporary community standards grounds, which is what we judge obscenity cases on. I'll explain. In determining whether material is obscene, one of the things that has to be determined is whether the material would be considered offensive by contemporary community standards. Well, if you've ever traveled to Columbus, especially around the third week of November, you'll understand what I mean when I say that a bumper sticker of this type would not be offensive. If you don't believe me, walk down the streets of Columbus and listen for their version of the Michigan fight song, which manages to incorporate two of the seven words you can't say on TV within four words, a feat previously reserved only to rappers.

Well. Enough ranting on the First Amendment for the evening. I told you this would be disconnected. But it's interesting -- at least, I think so. :-) Or else I'm going insane.

Or insaner.