Keeping the Illegals Out

I shall not go into the typical "We had a great time in Israel, we didn't get enough done in the short time we were there, and we can't wait to go back again" routine, other than to perfunctorily but unequivocally state that we had a great time in Israel, we didn't get enough done in the short time we were there, and we can't wait to go back again.

The afternoon before we departed, I received a telephone call from the airport limousine services purveyor with whom we had arranged our transportation.  Seems that another couple, about three-quarters of a mile away from us, wanted to catch the same flight to and the same return flight from.  Would we mind sharing the ride with them (and saving $10 in the process)?

I told the limo guy that as long as there was sufficient room in the vehicle, then I didn't have a problem with it.  He assured me that the van he would send would have ample room for four adults plus lots of luggage.  It did.

This particular couple is not quite 30 years our junior, married 2 years, no children yet (but they indicated that the situation was subject to change within the foreseeable future).  We have a number of mutual acquaintances.  To be sure, they were pleasant traveling companions, but they are where we were 25 years ago and still have quite a ways to go in order to bring their marriage up to the level of functionality my wife and I have achieved.  There obviously are no guarantees on such matters, but, having done it, I would give them a reasonable chance of hitting their quarter-century mark.

In any event, they were seated in a different section of the plane, so after the luggage was retrieved in Israel we each went our separate ways, and did not have occasion to contact or rendezvous with one another until we found ourselves waiting at the gate to board the return flight.

After landing at Newark Liberty, we of course had to clear the Customs & Border Protection people.  And that is where the other couple experienced a slight complication.

This year, the pomegranate crop in Israel yielded lots of specimens which are larger and sweeter than usual.  It was quite fortuitous that the holiday of Tu B'Shevat, the New Year for the Trees, occurred during our visit to Israel.  It is, of course, a custom to eat fruits on that day, especially the fruits for which the Land of Israel is historically known:  Olives, dates, figs, grapes, and pomegranates (The Jaffa oranges and the Sabra cactus pears would come onto the scene much later; immigrants, as it were, who succeeded and made good for themselves and their new country).  We, of course, feasted on those fruits and others.

Our limo companions were no less impressed with the pomegranates than we were.  They packed a dozen into one of their suitcases.  And when they were asked by the CBP people if they were bringing any fruits into the country, they truthfully answered in the affirmative.  They were sent to the CBP's agriculture specialist, who confiscated the pomegranates.

I am pleased to no end that the CBP people are protecting America from diseased fruits and plants.  Now, how about keeping out the illegal aliens who commit acts of fraud and violence upon the American people!

Spelling some Troubling Implications

It is the end of the semester, the Final Exams have been administered, and now, I have a little more than a week to get the final grades submitted to the University Registrar.  I will be grading exams and term papers for the next few days.

While incorrectly spelling the name of the professor does not constitute an automatic failure, or even an automatic grade reduction in the courses I teach (yet), neither am I favorably impressed by students who misspell my name.

Even more perplexing are those students who spell their own names incorrectly.

My grandparents emigrated to America from the former Soviet Union, where the Cyrillic alphabet is used instead of the Roman alphabet; my grandparents, whose primary language was Yiddish, were conversant in the Hebrew alphabet no less than in the Cyrillic.  Accordingly, what with the transliterations from the Cyrillic and Hebrew alphabets to Roman alphabet, there are variants in how my surname is spelled in America by various branches of the family (and in Israel, the transition from Cyrillic to Hebrew has yielded at least two different Hebrew versions).  So yes, approximately 90 or 100 years ago there were some confusions by some members of my extended family as to how their names are spelled (which is just as well, because the bad branch of the family, who spelled it differently from mine in America, are not so easily conflated with the rest of us).

Given my family's experience, I can sort of understand a student misspelling his or her name if they come from a place where the Roman alphabet is not the standard.  I have a student from China who has been in America for less than a year; she has spelled her name a number of different ways (though she did learn English quite well before she came here).  But at least she has something resembling a plausibly good reason.

Not so for the student whose family has been here for over 100 years, and who has used at least three spelling variants of his own surname (which is not all that uncommon).

I am convinced that the texting culture has caused a deterioration in the integrity of the English language.  I don't know what to read into it, but my gut hunch is that it is more likely to do harm than good.  If people are spelling their own names incorrectly, then we have probably gotten ourselves beyond Stage One of whatever long slide down the slippery slope we have embarked upon.

Frustrated Professor

I have been quite sleep-deficient of late. I'm out the door at 5:30 AM to teach my morning class, and then I have an evening class that ends about 9 PM. Fortunately, none of the people with whom I share an office are teaching during this summer session, so I am usually able to take a little nap during the early afternoon.

Some of my students are really on the ball, but today, two of them rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe the sleep deficiency is catching up with me and making me edgy.

The first one asked if she could just turn in the written case briefing (this is an undergraduate Law course) without having to give an oral presentation, because she is uncomfortable giving an oral presentation to the class. Note that (A) students may give the oral presentations from their seats (almost all do) instead of standing up before the class; and (B) another student in the class, who has a speech impediment, has been quite avid in delivering her oral presentations. I didn't want to get into a pissing contest over it, so I told her it would be okay. Believe me, even if I were to give her a 100% on the assignment based upon the written submission alone (rather unlikely), she is in no danger of becoming class valedictorian.

The other one (who is usually quite attentive and studious) misunderstood an assignment. The assignment entailed finding official documents issued by a particular governmental office. The specification for the documents was that they be no more than 6 months old. The four documents this student presented were between 6 and 18 months old. After I returned the assignment -- she got gigged for the older-than-specified documents -- she came to me and told me that she misunderstood because of the language barrier (English is not her native language). I told her that my own grandparents, whose formal educations did not surpass the equivalent of the sixth grade, also had a language barrier, but that they overcame it. Fortunately, I suppressed the urge to tell her "Welcome to America -- Now Go Learn English!!!" She's essentially a very personable woman, but this time she really got on my nerves. Probably the lack of sleep is getting to me.

Don't get me wrong -- I enjoy teaching the courses I do. But summer session courses are very draining for student and professor alike.
I dread tomorrow. I fear that tonight will be one of little or no sleep. And because we are rapidly approaching the end of the first summer session, the students are very, very likely to have 11th hour questions for me. I hope that they do not interrupt my nap tomorrow afternoon.

Bianca can't get no satisfaction or shelter

New York City has this thing called rent stabilization. It is a complex and Byzantine system which was "temporarily" imposed after WWII, when returning GIs increased the demand (and therefore, the going rate of rent) for housing. The regime continues to this day, with the result that a significant number of New Yorkers live in apartments for which they pay far, far below the fair market rental.

Rent-stabilized tenants often go to great lengths to maintain their NYC rent-stabilized apartments. This means keeping the apartment as one's primary residence, which means that people who otherwise would have relocated to Florida (or the Piedmont or who knows where else) frequently travel back to NYC to be physically present in their apartment. And, because one can pass the apartment on to members of one's "family" (including one's homosexual homeboy or lezzie live-in), the stakes are all the greater.

The system, initially concocted as a fix to a housing emergency, is now a permanent fixture in New York City and has transformed the right to a rent-stabilized apartment into an heirloom to be passed down from generation to generation.

The only case I ever had that in any way entailed the NYC Rent Stabilization Code demonstrates the system's absurdity. My client, an kind-hearted elderly woman, had taken in a needy homeless person. Turns out that this "guest" not only stole my client's property, but also physically attacked my client. Another lawyer tried to obtain an order of protection, but this "guest" claimed that because she had lived in a room in my client's apartment for more than 30 consecutive days, she was entitled to a statutory rent-stabilized lease for the room in my client's apartment!

For reasons not relevant here, the guest-cum-assailant finally left my client's apartment. It turns out that claiming a rent-stabilized lease in the apartment of a generous host this was the "guest's" usual modus operandi.

But the system is not in TOTAL dysfunction. Turns out that Bianca Jagger's landlord was able to evict Bianca (and thus rent the apartment to a more remunerative tenant) because Bianca, as an alien on a B-2 tourist visa, cannot claim a primary residence in New York City or anywhere else in America.

The case is Katz Park Ave. Corp. v Jagger, 2007 NY Slip Op 07908 (App.Div., 1st Dept. 2007).


To the Court, I say "Bravissimo!!" But what about all of those who are not B-2 tourists because they are in America illegally? Are the courts going to enforce the law against them, too? Quite frankly, at least Mick Jagger's ex is in America legally.