This weekend there was some sort of police convention right by the school. This had its high points – bicycling was much safer in that no one was doing boneheaded driving maneuvers and there was bagpipe music nearly all Friday and Saturday. I love bagpipes – they made me feel like I was back in Glasgow. That was doubly important for my frazzled brain, since when I was in Glasgow, I attended all the open English Lit lectures and only had to write 3 papers. Thus, the Glaswegian air helped me delude myself that the property information I was franticly reviewing/learning was something I was doing out of sheer love, and that there was no test pressure to prioritize and privilege parts of the material. While that’s a good first cut, today I have to organize my brain along the test, which is probably not the ideal way to understand property as it meshes with the other legal disciplines.
Then, adding to the perfect study day, an intense thunderstorm rolled in. Sister School, Proto-Abe and myself went up onto the roof of the dorm and looked out over the city. It was very intense – the sky was that deep charcoal grey with black fringed ribbons of clouds passing over. The rain was falling at a slight angle, but the wind was gusting so strongly on a cross angle it sheered the rain into billowing counter-plumes of mist. I felt sorry for the police marchers, with their kilts and flags, but once the lightning started, I forgot about them. It was a spectacular display – violet dancing about the capitol dome and the construction cranes next to union station, or twisting aimlessly in the sky, while further strikes lit the distant clouds. For some reason the sky south of the capitol would flare orange during some of the strikes. At one point the rain/fog was drifting over the dome so thicky it looked like the dome was smoking. Ominous but cool.
Studying continued. But at 3-4 am, I was reminded why I cops annoy the shit out of me (and I say this counting several police officers as friends and family); some tool decided to rev his chopper and ride it around the block for an hour. From the soft drunken cheers of about 5 voices, it was obvious that this was a cop and that he was doing it to elicit some approval from either other cops or cop-groupies. It’s 4 in the goddamn morning, and I’m trying to sleep. You know if this was just some Harley guy, or, worse, some college kids on crotch-rockets, the cops would be all over them. But if it’s one of their own, it’s all good fun. This is one of the most basic levels of the justice system – the one we don’t learn all that much about – “there’s no such thing as bad police work, only bad report writing.”
Now, back to work, after a final study poem.