Happy Birthday to Blog!

Posted on February 7, 2006

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Would have posted this sooner but the site was down on the actual birthday. How Murphy-like.

I totally miss blogging. I yearn after it. But it seems like employment takes up all one’s time and makes you seriously disinclined to do anything non-compulsory when you get home. And they’re not even paying me!
This immigration and refugee intensive program I am doing this semester includes two internships of two weeks each. My first one, going on right now, is at the office of one of Canada’s most famous immigration lawyers. A litigator whose name is carved in legend. I would tell you the famous cases she has argued, but they would mostly be wasted on this blog’s readership. Although apparently my law friends read it, but don’t comment. Hah.
On the first day, I got all dressed up and took numerous forms of transportation down to the address of the office. I found myself standing in front of a dingy brownstone building in a semi-sketchy part of town. There was no indication that any such establishment was inside it. I went inside. A man was standing in the “foyer” – and I use the word very generously – and he seemed to be expecting me.
The office is a shambles. It is two completely unconnected apartments of poor design and maintenance. People simply cross the corridor from one to the other all day. There is peeling paint, piles of documents everywhere and the receptionist has a poster of Lord of the Rings leaning against the wall behind him. There has been no attempt to redecorate the two apartments as offices – one of the secretaries is in the kitchen, with a sink by her head and kitchen cupboards. The other side’s kitchen has a stove, on which you can typically find pots of soup and pans of chicken. Everyone smokes (indoors – gasp! Every Canadian molecule is outraged!) and the senior partner’s office window looks out onto a brick wall on which is spray-painted “FRANK IS A FAG”. An accessory no Supreme Court litigator should be without, I say.
So I met everyone, and noted that I was the only person not wearing jeans, while evidently heels were an alien concept. So, politely asking permission of the associate whose office I was in, I whipped out of my purse a pair of black loafers and put them on, stowing my high heeled pumps in my purse instead. He was a little startled but took it in good part. I always carry a spare pair of flats when heel-wearing is necessitated.

More later.

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