The Law Blogger's Scholarship

“Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.” (Eighth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America.)

What is a “cruel and unusual” punishment? Often we think of methods of torture used in Europe during the Dark Ages (such as burning at the stake, the rack, etc.), but those aren’t applicable to our day. So, what would we consider a cruel or unusual punishment today? Brian Reagan gave us an example: “Place a slice of bologna on your face; cut out the eye holes. Then I’d like you to go to the local mall and begin yodeling.” Of course, that’s a humorous example. Recently, life sentences without parole for juveniles have been debated as being “cruel and unusual.” The most commonly argued, and probably the most controversial, topic is the death penalty. Is the death sentence a “cruel and unusual” punishment? I say that it is not, but only if it is used prudently.

Some crimes are too horrible to be forgiven too easily. Some people are too dangerous to be allowed to exist among other humans. Take for an example Osama bin Laden. His actions caused the death of thousands of people, and yet he still had strong and dangerous supporters. Giving him a life sentence could be considered an insult to the memories of those he killed. Also, it would cost a lot of money to keep him sufficiently guarded from outside attempts to rescue him, and the risk of his escape had too great of consequences to risk. His death was the only option.

However, I think that sometimes the death sentence is given too freely. Up until 2005, juveniles could be sentenced with the death penalty. This was classified as “unconstitutional”and as being a “cruel and unusual” punishment in Roper v. Simmons. The fact that young people were being executed shows that the regulations on who gets the death penalty are too lax. Only dangerous people who deserve the death penalty should be sentenced to have no more chances on this earth to change.

In the Fifth Amendment, it is said that no one can be “deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law.” “Life” is included in this list, which means that the Founding Fathers did not feel that the death sentence fell under“cruel and unusual.” However, there needs to be wisdom in the decisions that call for that punishment. If there’s the slightest glimmer of hope that a person can change, they should be given that chance. In those cases where there is no hope, no forgiveness, too many risks for the result, then the death penalty is the right decision. It’s a hard decision, but sometimes it’s the right one.

This blog post is an official entry for the Law'>http://www.joshuapondlaw.com/scholarship">Law Blogger’s Scholarship, sponsored by The Law Office of Joshua Pond, http://www.joshuapondlaw.com.

Hello Friends!

Hello Friends!

Here's the deal... I'm applying for a scholarship by writing an essay and posting it online. Feel free to comment on it if you want to, but please don't post anything after I do, just so the scholarship people can find it. (Since there hasn't been much traffic on this blog lately I'm not too worried, but just in case. :P) Feel free to comment on it and such; it's just a normal blog post that I'm submitting for a scholarship. No big deal. :)

Thanks!
~Kayla~

Pillars and Rocks

I am balancing .... on two pillars.

My arms are t ..... aught and stro

ng. But without ... the pillars, not

hing can keep m ... e up. So, when

the pillars fall, I ... fall, until I lan

d on a Rock that is always beneath m

e, keeping me from falling into the en

dless abyss. It is always there, even w

hen I forget about it. So when the pill

ars fall, I still have my support. He is

my support, my strength and my love.

Poetry

I don't write poetry. So please critique the style, flow, rhythm, etc. This is actually the second poem I've written this week. Funny... everything is coming out with a flow that tells me "New line here, capitalize this" that can only be done in verse. Anyway, please critique and enjoy!

The Tribute

You have no idea how much

I need you.

As soon as I'm down,

You're there

Lifting me up

And making it all better.

You are the cure to any ailment.

Those you can't cure,

You comfort

And get me through.

You and I

Have love wars,

Where we finally have to call

Truce

Because we can't stop telling each other

How awesome we are.

But,

I'll admit,

You usually win.

You make me feel like the most

Beautiful,

Talented,

Kind

Person in the world.

I know I'm not,

But when you're telling me,

I believe it.

You know more about me

Than you think.

Even if I forget everything about you,

You never fail

To remember

And check up on me.

If I've stopped worrying about something,

There's no doubt

It's still on your mind.

You love me that much.

I never knew someone could.

But somehow you do.

You are

The sunshine in my day,

The smile on my face,

And you don't even know it.

You don't know

How much I depend on you,

How much I miss you when you're gone,

How much I look forward to seeing you.

If you knew,

You would also know

I'm trying to be better.

I'm trying to remember.

I'm trying to be everything

You make me believe I am.

I love you that much.

I didn't know I could,

But I do.

Thank you.

The Nox and Diem Parable

You'll notice I enjoy writing parables. Here's another one. This one is very spiritual in meaning, at least for me. Tell me what you get out of it.

There were no windows in his room. None in the entire apartment, save one in the living room, right next to the front door. It would look out over the rest of the city- the tall buildings, the splashes of green parks, the smaller shops, everything- except for the thick, black-out curtains that covered it. The officials claimed it was so the Nocturns could sleep during the daylight hours.

Nox knew that wasn't true. He had seen the day, just once, and not legally. It was three years before, when he was fourteen. He had stayed up late into the day studying, then had gone to get a drink before going to bed. He had left all the lights off to avoid waking up his family, and he tripped in the pitch black near the window. He flung out his arms wildly, reaching for something to break his fall. Nothing did, but he did snag a corner of the curtain. The nail holding it in wiggled out of place, letting in the tiniest beam of sunlight. Nox was mystified by it- could anything be that bright? He crawled forward toward it, wanting to peek through, to see more, but before he could his father- woken by the sound of his son's fall- closed the hole before he could. "You'll never sleep with that light," he had said kindly as he drove the nail back into the wall.

But he was mistaken. It wasn't the light that kept Nox awake for days afterward, but the lack of it. He wanted to see more, to know about the sun, that light that was more beautiful than any electric one he had ever seen.

He knew the curtain wasn't so they could sleep. It was so they would never long for the beauty outside, never know it existed. Nox knew, because he longed for it, and it drove him to distraction. It was always on his mind. He's spent years staring at the drab, run-down wall of his bedroom, wondering about it, wanting it, wishing for it.

He dreaded the first glow of purple in the sky each morning, and yet he couldn't wait. It was the closest thing he had to the sun, but it also meant being shut up in his house until night came again.

His teachers called him lazy. His father called him foolish. His mother called him a dreamer. His sister called him stupid. The officials called him a problem. They started following him to make sure he got home before dawn lit up the sky. THey tried to convince him that being a Nocturn was better than a Dayern, and sometimes he almost believed them. Almost. But then he remembered that ray of light, and he knew that that was what he wanted, and that if he listened to the officials he would never get it. So he continued living in the dark, and wishing for the sun.

****************************

Sunlight trickled through the leaves, leaving bright patches on the page of Diem's book. He leaned back and smiled, his face in the light. He loved the day. Some of his friends wished they were Nocturns, but he didn't. The officials didn't make things any better. As soon as one of Diem's friends began to wonder if night would be better than day, the officials would show up and offer to make them a Nocturn. Sometimes Diem was able to dissuade the friend and keep them in the day. Other times they would go, and Diem would never see them again.

But they never tempted Diem. They offered to take him too, of course, but he never went. He loved being a Dayern too much: Being out in the warmth and light, being able to see the world around him, and just the joy of the day kept him from ever thinking night was better.

Dusk was about to fall, so Diem put his book in his bag and started toward home. Down one crowded street, then another. Even with the tall buildings all around him filled with Nocturns who couldn't come out until night, there were still so many people. He was walking through a city park, nearly to his own apartment, when a voice stopped him. He turned, looking to see who had said his name. His eyes fell on an old man when he said his name again. He sat on a bench, his hands were curved around a walking stick, the skin on them was wrinkled and blotched with age. Smile lines nearly hid his eyes, and his thin mouth had a small grin on it as he spoke.

"Diem," the man said, "There is a Nocturn who needs you. Wait here on this bench for him. I am tired and must go home and sleep. You wait for him here, and care for him." The man then stood and hobbled away, leaning heavily on his walking stick and taking small, uneven steps. Diem watched him go, confused. Who was he? And what could a Nocturn need of him? All the same, he sat down on the bench and waited.

The sky darkened from orange, to red, to purple. Diem didn't realize the sky ever was that color. The breeze turned chill as night set in, and he shivered. Where was the Nocturn? Artificial lights, trying to imitate the sun but really were pathetic in comparison, turned on in street lamps around him. The weird, ruddy light cast strange shadows that sent shivers up his spine. Nocturns came out of their apartments, stretching and breathing in the fresh outside air before they left to go to work or school, just like the Dayerns did during the day. Before too long, the streets seemed even more crowded than they did when Diem was on his way home.

Diem had about decided to give up and go home when something caught his eye. A around his own age was coming toward him, weaving along the path through the park. He was alone, and he looked distracted. The boy was pale, almost translucent, sick-looking, and skinny; Diem didn't realize anyone could look like that. But, without being in the sun everyday, it made sense. The boy was heading straight toward the bench, and Diem sat up a little straighter and cleared his throat.

The boy stopped. He looked at Diem, who realized that, just as the paleness of this boy was strange to him, his tan skin and healthy complexion must seem completely foreign to the boy. There was a look of puzzled disbelief on the boy's face. "Who are you?" he asked. Diem anwered with his name. "You're not a Nocturn, are you?" Diem shook his head. A look of wonder spread over the boy's face. "A Dayern?" Diem nodded. The boy sat down beside him. "My name's Nox," he said, "Tell me about the sun."

That was it. Diem understood now what he could do for Nox, this boy who had grown up with no real light, no sun, no knowledge of the joy could bring. "I can show you," Diem said, and led Nox into his apartment.

Daylight couldn't come fast enough for Nox. To pass the hours, Diem told him all about light, day, what to expect, what to do, and about the wonders of the sun. Near dawn, Diem fell asleep. Nox sat by the black-out curtained window, waiting, waiting.

Finally, morning came. Diem opened the door, and Nox burst outside. The sky was just turning from purple to orange, growing brighter every minute. He stood there in wonder as the sun peeked over the horizon, the first rays piercing the dark, just as they had in his living room years before.

Diem watched the look of pure joy on Nox's face with a swelling in his own heart. "You know," he said quietly, "Some Dayerns choose to be Nocturns."

Nox turned to him in disbelief, the rising sun putting the first color into his cheeks as he asked, "Who would ever give this up?"

We are blessed to have the gospel in our lives. We are lucky to have "light" and the "Son" to show us where to go and how to live. Others don't have that. We need to be willing to help others have the joy that we have, to let the light finally come into their lives.

Compilation

These are poems I wrote at Harriman. I'm not a poet (of which I am assured), so all you verse-enthused people can help me out.

Running Man
Running Man bottles:
indespensible pain
bronze ramparts frosting

Flushed thicket confess:
delirious theories
And misinterpret:
Peacock impression

Humanity betoken:
kinks transforming
before Running Man.


Unnatural
Trembling Institutions
(Construed Instinct that palsy affection,
Obscurest Eminence cultivate
over-interpretation) boast empty philosophy.
Methinks hierarchy oftentimes
emits mirage counterpart denizens
eagerly acclimated. Alas,
empty crops sway unnatural


Grace Dilemma
Full dungeons berth in a trice
when forbidden wintry feasts bate
Immemorial half-cocked games
tide the grace existence
and the bitter, ripe-open wagon
ruts/hems/grooves the dilemma,
with only rain to wash the mud

First Post and Other Sundries

Hey, everybody! Many of you know me. I'm Ned, obviously. I was pointed this direction by Edwardo. Well, here's a bit of my work so you can all try to get a feeling for how I write. It's part of a chain project that I do with a group of friends every once in a while, just for fun. It's called The Hurtling Through Time and Space Story that Has No Point or Purpose Except to be Random. Yup. I apologize in advance for several inside jokes, and for an uncharacteristically large amount of pop culture references... yeah. Anyways, here we go!

The Hurtling Through Time and Space Story that Has No Point or Purpose Except to be Random

Cricket v Royal Rainbow

Ned

"You're in the army now, squishy one!"

Cricket felt himself shoved forcefully in the small of the back into the steadily marching line of soldiers. He obviously had some questions... But it seemed weird talking to these people. They were short, they were round, they were shiny, and they had fuses on their heads and keys sticking out of their backs. He turned to the one who had shoved him. 

"Er- excuse me? Mr. Officer Bob-omb guy?"

The bob-omb turned to him irritably. "What do you want?!"

Cricket faltered. Sure, he'd seen his fair share of bob-ombs in his day, but never one with a green army helmet, a bushy mustache, and a Cuban cigar in its... Mouth? That got Cricket wondering. Did bob-ombs even have mouths? If not, how was he holding the cigar? And wouldn't the cigar cause the bob-omb to blow up?...

"What?!" screamed the officer. "What is it?! What do you want?! SPEAK, FREAK!!"

"Er..." Cricket pointed to the cigar. "Smoking is a bad habit..."

"What?" Asked the officer. He glanced down at his face and scowled. "@&$! those privates! Think it's sooo funny to stick tootsie rolls to my face!" He squinted his eyes together, and grunted deeply. Smoke started rising from his fuse, and the tootsie roll popped off his face at the speed of a bullet.

Private Costis had been off getting his wick trimmed. Feeling like a brand-new bomb, he strolled out of the barber shop, singing a happy tune. "Au Contraire, Mahatma..." Then, he got hit by something flying at the speed of a bullet and blew up.

KA-FRICKIN-BOOM!

Cricket stared at the smoldering crater. "Whatcha lookin' at, squishy?" The officer glanced at where he felt he could safely assume Cricket's line of sight was focused. "Oh, that. That's your standard peacetime casualty. Happens more often than you'd think. One of our brainiacs told me that the casualty rate is directly proportional with our tootsie roll consumption rate. I don't personally believe him." he glanced at Cricket's blank expression. "You were going to ask me something?"

"What?" said Cricket, still staring at the crater. "Oh, yes!" he regained his composure and turned to the officer. "Um... What exactly is going on here?"

"Well, ain't it obvious?" huffed the officer "This is war, Squishy! War! We gotta whip those stygimoloch scum before they whip us! Only I'm allowed to whip my bombs! Whip 'em into shape! Ha!" with that, the officer turned on his heels and stormed off, screaming mild profanities at his soldiers.

Confused, Cricket could do little else but just march along with the rest of the line. He glanced down at the bob-omb marching directly in front of him and plucked up the courage to tap him on the... Lack of shoulder. "Excuse me? Excuse me, sir?"

The soldier turned around to see who desired his attention. "Yes?"

"GAH!" Cricket's sense of reality leaped about two feet out of his skull until it was stopped forcefully by the ceiling of skewed recognition. It then fluttered brokenly back into his brain, moaning for ibuprofen and aspirin.

"Hey, Cricket! Good to see ya! Want a jawexploder?"

Cricket glanced from the proffered confection to the being by whom it was being proffered. This is wrong! Muttered his sense of reality between weak requests to forget the ibuprofen and just get some hydrocodone. He's gotta be photoshopped.

Sense of reality, explained Cricket, This is the real world. He can't be photoshopped, he's a tangible, three-dimensional object. Er- person. Whatever!

Hey, I'm your sense of reality! Came the disgruntled reply. I'll tell you what's real and what isn't, and I'm telling you that this is not right! Now, make it stop before I start begging for morphine!

Shut up! Cricket slapped his sense of reality across the face and shoved him into a corner. This is the Hurtling Through Time and Space Story, got that? It's happening, so just accept it!

As his sense of reality curled into the fetal position, Cricket returned his attention to the candy being waved in front of his face. "A jawexploder, you say?"

"Yup!" elated the photoshopped being. "It's a lot like a jawbreaker, except more... Explosive."

"I see..." said Cricket, cautiously taking the jawexploder between two fingers. It hovered in front of his open mouth for a few moments before he gave in to common sense and threw it over his shoulder.

"Okay, I'll bite." he sighed, ignoring the explosions and screams of annoyance from behind him. "What are you doing here, and why are you a bob-omb?"

"I don't know." said Erik, perusing his new body. "One moment you're destroying a giant evil computer, and the next second, somebody touches the sun-ball and POOF! I'm a face on a minor video game minion. But, that's life for ya, am I right?"

"Right." said Cricket uncertainly. He turned to the bob-omb behind him. "Are you seeing this?"

"Of course I am, Cricket. And I must admit, I'm finding it all rather amusing."

Cricket gave his sense of reality the evil eye before it could say another word, and returned his attention to Erik. "Erik, why is Ned a bob-omb too?"

"I'm right here, you know." said Ned.

"Be quiet, I'm talking to Erik."

"Yeah, come on, Ned!" chuckled Erik. "He obviously values my opinions more than he values yours." he stuck his tongue out at Ned.

"Now, boys, play nice." Chided Cricket. " Now then, Erik, why is Ned a bob-omb?"

"I haven't the foggiest."

"I believe," snickered Ned, enjoying Cricket's frustrated expression, "that the better question would be thus. Why aren't you a bob-omb, Cricket?"

Cricket clutched his head and moaned. "Please. Please, be quiet. My sense of reality just asked me for a gun. Well, if neither of you can explain why you're bob-ombs, do you at least know what we're supposed to be doing here?

And at once, as though compelled by some outer psychological force, Erik and Ned both recited, "To protect the motherland and the dignity of all things small, round, shiny, explosive, sentient, and run by clockwork!" After having said this, they both clicked their heels and each shot a single red spark out of their fuses into the air, which sparks exploded in a minuscule fashion, forming the tiny visage of a winking bob-omb in an army hat before slowly drifting to the ground and flickering into nothing.

"705-3177..." Muttered Cricket.

"What was that?" asked Ned.

"What? Oh, that was nothing." said Cricket. "However, I might ask you the same thing. What was with the whole robotic 'I must serve' schtick?"

Once again, Erik and Ned recited simultaneously, "Our leaders are fine, upstanding bombs of character, who are not brainwashing us in any way! Tovarisch! Heil Bill Nye!"

"Wait!" interjected Cricket. "Did you just say that all of you guys are being brainwashed by Bill Nye?"

"Our leaders are fine, upstanding bombs of character, who are not brainwashing us in any way! Tovarisch! Heil Bill Nye!"

"Uh-Huh..." muttered Cricket, and resumed his stoic marching. Bill Nye? He thought. That guy who used to have his own science show in the '90s? And now he's brainwashing bob-ombs to do his dirty work? What a fascist!

"Alright, men! Attack formation!" bellowed the officer. "And you, squishy! You ever seen a stygimoloch before?"

"No," muttered Cricket, snapped out of his musings.

"Well, take a good look." the officer somehow gestured toward the horizon, and Cricket followed his gaze.

"El gaspo!" el gaspoed Cricket. "That's a stygimoloch? It looks like a horned devil from the River Styx!"

"Considering that's what stygimoloch means, I'm gonna have to agree with you." The officer then addressed the whole assembly. "All right, men! Go get those scumbags, and remember, explode on sight!"

"Explode on sight!" roared the crowd. "Yay!!!"

"Wait just a moment." Cricket turned to Erik and Ned. "Isn't exploding generally classified as a negative experience? Exploding equals death, am I right?"

Once again, Erikbot and Nedroid recited, "It will be an honor to scatter pieces of our bodies far and wide in order to serve our glorious, non-fascist leader! Tovarisch!"

This doesn't bode well. Thought Cricket. I gotta get these guys out of here! When the command was issued to charge, Cricket scooped up Erik and Ned and began running away with them.

"Hey, what's the deal, K-ricket?" asked Ned. "Why are you taking us away from our battle?"

"To go visit Bill Nye." said Cricket, determination oozing out of his every word like pus from a dead, infected mouse.

"The leader!?" gasped Erik and Ned. "We are not worthy of seeing the leader!"

"Don't question it, just do it!" snapped Cricket.

"Ok..." muttered Erik and Ned.

Wow. Thought Cricket. That was surprisingly easy... "Do the chicken dance." he said.

They did so.

"Sing Old McDonald while you're doing it."

It happened.

"Sing Old McDonald and Old McTavish at the same time."

Somehow, they made it work.

"Ok, you can stop now." they walked onward for quite some time before Cricket finally asked, "Um... Where do we find the leader?"

"In that armored tank that's been following us in a very non-stalker like (and might I add very non-fascist) manner ever since we left the ranks."

Cricket turned to look at it. It was about one foot away from his nose. "Well, I feel like and idiot."

"You should."

"Shut up."

"Ok."

With that, Cricket reared back his fist, screamed "NATAS!" and punched a large hole in the side of the tank. He crawled through it and accidentally dropped his jaw. As it clattered to the floor, he surveyed the scene before him. He saw Bill Nye, perched atop a pedestal whilst astride a majestic cthunicorn. Royal rainbows and miniature sprites in the incarnation of Rick Astley and Admiral Ackbar fluttered around his head.

"Welcome to my lab, Mr. K-ricket!" A sadistic (and might i add very fascist) smile crossed Bill Nye's face. "And now, as is proper, I will make an attempt on your life. CARE BEAR STARE!"

All of the royal rainbows circling his head converged into one point on his manly chest before firing off a deadly beam of spectral energy directly in Cricket's direction. As Cricket dodged the blast, he heard a small, insecure voice from a dark corner of His brain. Um, excuse me? If I may-

Shut up, my sense of reality! Snapped Cricket. I've had it with you! Get out of my house!

Ok... Cricket heard a suitcase click shut deep within the recesses of his mind, and he felt something invisible wriggle out of his ear and plunge to the ground below. He instantly felt all of his cares evaporate away into nothingness.

"Like, oh my OMG!" LOLed Cricket. "U guyz r like, totally bob-omz!" he soon began ROFLing like a spastic.

"Um-" Bill Nye faltered as Cricket rolled past him. "Well, Uh... This is the part where I explain my evil scheme to you guys. So, without further ado, here we go! See, I've been studying the properties of 10th-dimensional objects." He pushed a button on the cthunicorn's saddle, and a claw descended from the ceiling. It held-

"ZOMG sun-ball!" LMAOed Cricket. He leaped at it.

"Hey, wait!" shouted Bill Nye. "I still need to explain my evil plan, you little maggot! Hey, stop!-"

Cricket grabbed the sun-ball.

Well, there you have it. I invite you now to constructively criticize the heck out of it.

Sincerely,

-Ned.