In deconstructing the latest Kerryism, Eugene Volokh finally asks:

What is the author of this column thinking? ... What is he trying to do?

Guido Calabresi's anti-Bush remarks have been getting some attention in the blogosphere. Some of this attention has been from The Curmudgeonly Clerk who rightly points out that Calabresi's comments violate the Code of Conduct for United State Judges:

In the past, I have advocated according judges broad free speech rights. I retain this position. In general, I think more harm comes from muzzling judges than from letting them freely speak, even on topics that intersect with politics. What constitutional issue does not have a political dimension, after all.

But Judge Calabresi's remarks go too far. His speech constitutes an unambiguous violation of the Code of Conduct. He has improperly publicly declared opposition to a specific political candidate (and thereby implicitly endorsed another). Such brazen politicking from members of the federal bench cannot be tolerated.

If you, like me, failed to read Slate last Friday you might have missed this column by none other than Michael Newdow of recent Supreme Court fame. He argues, among other things, that the "best interests of the child" standard of custody law violates the 14th Amendment guarantee to Equal Protection of the law. Would he also suggest that merit-based criteria for state college admissions, or selection of presidential appointments under a "best interests of the country" standard were unconstitutional? He does not say.

UPDATE: And here he is on today's New York Times op-ed page. Busy, busy.

My standard record with computers continues. I had a lot typed up on my computer and stored on a USB drive, but then when I got to the computers at the hub site, I discovered that 1) the hub site computers currently aren't set up to allow that (floppy disks are permitted) and 2) my USB drive was still formatted to Mac, so I could reformat it on one of the staff's laptops so that PC could read it in the future, but that wiped off the copies of things I'd saved on it. So, back to the laptop again, and maybe I'll just use disks from now. And hopefully they'll configure the computers to allow USB drives.

At around 10:30 or 11:00pm last night, when I left my room to go brush my teeth and head out to the toilet, host grandma called to me to ask me what I was doing and wasn't I tired, why wasn't I asleep (at least, that's what I figure she was asking). I went in to explain to her and realized that it felt so blessedly normal. Of course grandma is talking to me in a language I really don't know, but of course I can understand what she's saying.* Of course this is how life is run.

It had been a great day. It began with Americans doing silly American things. American hiking is what all of you are familiar with. Kazakh hiking is packing a really large amount of food and a few games, heading to the hills, and sitting in the shade in the mountains from 10am until sunset. Five of us went off for an American hike. I wish I'd had those pants that zip off and become shorts. Instead, I was out in my umbros. At a certain elevation in the mountains, there's a ring of thorn bushes. I pushed through them on the way up; I pushed through them on the way down. It was worth it, though, to get to the top of our local foothills. I think the name of the mountains are the Altau in Kazakhstan, but Tien Shan across the border in Kirgizstan. Most of the tall distant steep peaks have snow in rivulets to as far down as is not blocked by the greener foothills in front. One of them, though, was actually covered in snow for all of it that was visible. I have no idea how far away these are, or if they're even in Kazakhstan.

The other vegetation is friendlier. The mountains smell lovely because they're covered in what I think is wild thyme. There are flowers vaguely reminiscient of gladioli that grow to be taller than I am. It's amazing how green everything is, especially given how dry it is here. The mountains have horizontal lines like stretch marks in skin from the erosion, and spring floods have carved fan-like concave dents to the valley floor in some places. But even those large dents have clumps of bright green*** grass growing in the midst, and trees or shrubbery on their sides.

After I got back, it was time for laundry. By hand. I'm going to have some serious forearm muscles by the time I get home. Wash. Ring out. Rinse once. Ring out. Rinse again. Ring out. Hang up. It took me as long here to do laundry as it does in the States, but most of the time there, it's effortless waiting. After washing jeans, wearing skirts doesn't seem like such a bad idea. And even though this is a Kazakh village (read: conservative), skirts that fall a few inches above my knees seem perfectly ok. Grandma tickles my knees, bu that's all. When I was walking back from the mountains in my short umbros, a Kazakh woman called me over to talk to her. She and her children were picking sour cherries, and she insisted on giving me a bag of them to take home. I'd never met her before. That's just how the people around here are. Today, a group of girls who have just graduated high school invited us over to one of their grandmother's houses for lunch with them, and after lunch, we were invited to the graduation ceremony next Wednesday. One of the other trainees (one with better Kazakh) will give a speech congratulating them. The size of the Fourth of July bash we'll be throwing should be growing and growing.

Oh -- the stereotype about Peace Corps has been fulfilled. I've dug my ditch. I guess I can go home now. On our first day in Sovet, as we were taking a tour of the village, a group of people digging an irrigation ditch for several families' fields. They called out a phrase that's used to call all hands to a collaborative effort. I don't think they actually expected a response. The workers were an elderly couple, and the neighborhood kids, elementary schoolers.** Had the PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees) not probably equalled or (others) surpassed them in strength, I don't think we'd have been allowed to take up the shovels and hoes. It's the first time I've ever dug a ditch in a skirt.

* Host grandma and I speak together in a horribly ungrammatical combination of Kazakh, Russian, and German. When I left for Issyk today to come to the computers, I told her "Ecik balamar. Wir schenken unser rodeteli picmo. Computer picom." Translated. "I go to Issyk (Kaz.). We send our (Ger.) parents letters (Rus.) And computer is universal.

** I'm really bad at guessing ages. I expect girls who come up to midway between my shoulder and elbow to be eight, not twelve and thirteen. But people are shorter here, especially shorter than the overwhelmingly midwestern American guys. Host grandma was very impressed when she saw a picture of my father. Tall. Strong. Red beard. So, Happy Father's Day, Dad (sorry I couldn't get to Issik yesterday), you've got host grandma's approval. I know you needed it.

*** In Kazakh, it would be blue. Blue is blue, and plant life that is green is also blue. A green flag is green. Kazakh is very cool. There's no gender. Nouns do not have gender. There is only one third person singular pronoun. There is a very nice first person ultra plural (I have no clue what the grammatical term is). It's similiar to you/ya'll/all ya'll. It's the all inclusive "we" for the nominative case.

For all the time that I'm in Kazakhstan, this will work as a mailing address. It's the Peace Corps headquarters here. After I get to my site where I'll be working, I'll get a direct address.

Amanda Butler
Peace Corps
PO Box 376
480001 Almaty
Kazakhstan