Marbury vs. Madison 1803

Supreme Court of the United States

Argued February 11, 1803
Decided February 24, 1803

Full case name

William Marbury v. James Madison, Secretary of State of the United States

Citations

5 U.S. 137; 1 Cranch 137; 2 L. Ed. 60; 1803 U.S. LEXIS 352

Prior history

Original action filed in U.S. Supreme Court; order to show cause why writ of mandamus should not issue, December 1801

Subsequent history

None

Holding

Section 13 of the Judiciary Act of 1789 is unconstitutional to the extent it purports to enlarge the original jurisdiction of the Supreme Court beyond that permitted by the Constitution. Congress cannot pass laws that are contrary to the Constitution, and it is the role of the Judicial system to interpret what the Constitution permits.

Court membership

Chief Justice
John Marshall
Associate Justices
William Cushing · William Paterson
Samuel Chase · Bushrod Washington
Alfred Moore

Case opinions

Majority
Marshall, joined by Paterson, Chase, Washington
Cushing and Moore took no part in the consideration or decision of the case.

Laws applied

U.S. Const. arts. I, III; Judiciary Act of 1789 § 13

"It is emphatically the province and duty of the Judicial Department [the judicial branch] to say what the law is. Those who apply the rule to particular cases must, of necessity, expound and interpret that rule. If two laws conflict with each other, the Courts must decide on the operation of each.

So, if a law [e.g., a statute or treaty] be in opposition to the Constitution, if both the law and the Constitution apply to a particular case, so that the Court must either decide that case conformably to the law, disregarding the Constitution, or conformably to the Constitution, disregarding the law, the Court must determine which of these conflicting rules governs the case. This is of the very essence of judicial duty. If, then, the Courts are to regard the Constitution, and the Constitution is superior to any ordinary act of the Legislature, the Constitution, and not such ordinary act, must govern the case to which they both apply.

Those, then, who controvert the principle that the Constitution is to be considered in court as a paramount law are reduced to the necessity of maintaining that courts must close their eyes on the Constitution, and see only the law [e.g., the statute or treaty].

This doctrine would subvert the very foundation of all written constitutions."

Marshall

Marbury v. Madison

Women Only

Recently the team that put together Zenyatta's career created a separate lounge area for women. I don't get it. Why do women want to be separate from men in a world where we have been fighting to be with them in work and play and considered their equals? We fought to not be excluded and now we wish to exclude to feel "safe."

Are we still so backward that we need a separate place for women to feel safe? What are we? Saudi Arabia? Sure there are men that are not exactly the safest to be around. There are some women that are not safe to be around, but the majority of men are good men. Why would we want to exclude good men from our conversations and lives? Why do we need to feel "safe" from them? Aren't they our friends?

If men created a "men's only" lounge women would be getting court orders to be able to use the that lounge. If women want to exclude men it's ok. I don't get the double standard. How can we be equal with a double standard? Double standards create nothing but resentment and mistrust.

I am involved in a world that is very male dominated (off roading) and have frequently been the only woman for miles, and out of cell phone range, I have never felt I needed a "safe" place or a need to "separate" from the men I was around. If I separated myself I would not have learned all that I needed to know to be successful on the trail. I would have separated myself from a lot of valuable information and a lot of priceless friendship.

If I want to be considered equal, I must not make myself separate. If I want trust and understanding, I must be there to show who I am.

Back

Sort of. Still can't walk barefoot or wear heels. My foot is still not "normal." But I can ride the motorcycle and walk normally. Time to start hiking!

Pain Sets In

Ok, pain sets in everytime I put my foot in the lowered position. It will be a cranky me at work because of the pain. You've been warned.

Foot Surgery

I'm day six into my healing after surgery. My arms are sore, my shoulders hurt and I dread having to get up and use the crutches. Next Monday is viewed with dread. The long haul to the train and then the bus.

I didn't have a good time getting on or off the bus. The steep stairs and impatient people means that I could rebreak my foot since I don't have a cast. I asked a driver for assistance with the rear platform and he said he couldn't leave the steering wheel (bullshit) and after I got on the bus he informed me about the platform. Talk about retroactive covering the ass. The only thing that I will be thankful for with the express bus is that those busses are low platform and don't have stairs. Unfortunately, you stand for 20 minutes while a driver drinks coffee and bullshits with other drivers. The so called schedule is entirely at the whim of the drivers, who make up time by blowing through stale yellows and actually run reds.

The doctor's office x-rays revealed that my foot now has a curved bone in the foot. The bone was broken and re-oriented. Pins put in that look like wood screws and I have a much slimmer foot. I don't look forward to doing this next year. I might wait until the summer is over. I would like to have a summer to myself (a wedding and a funeral ate the past two summers).

Here is a view of the foot with the cripple shoe:



And here is a view of the stitches on Day 5:

Hoarding

I just spent a week cleaning out a hoarder's house. You see hoarder's houses on TV and the sanitizing effect of television cannot give you even the remotest idea how bad it is. The stench is overpowering and can penetrate a respirator.

I had to clean the house that my brother and I owned. We learned a valuable lesson about being the landlord of a renter who happens to be your own parent: Check up on them on a regular basis and treat them like any other tenant. We trusted our mother who we knew had a bit of a messy house cleaning history. I don't care if the person raised you, they are still human and prone to failure. Also, a relative will lie to you or hide things just as fast as a stranger. Had we done at least a yearly inspection of the house we would've moved her out long before the house got into the state we found it in after she passed away. True, we would've had to play footsie with her to disarm her (she's notorious for keeping a loaded gun by her side) but she would've been moved out to a home or a smaller place. We would not be forced to sell our property because the damage she caused will cost us more than we have resources for to repair. We were too cowardly to move her to a space that would be more controlled and her filthy habits checked.

Hoarding isn't just a spontaneous thing. It seems to be something inborn. My uncle, the brother of our mother, is also as dirty. The two had a neat mother and yet those two children of my grandmother are lazy and messy with an excuse for everything. My uncle uses the death of his third wife as an excuse for his filthy house. His house was filthy long before he ever met her. Our mother used rebellion as an excuse for her laziness.

Hoarders get something, anything and won't let it go. It becomes a part of who they are. They become stubborn and rebellious if you try to take it away from them. Hoarding is another addiction. Our mother has been an addict of some sort all her life. I laugh now when I think of her disgust with my drug experimentation in high school. Here was a woman who became addicted to cigarettes in the 1940s, tranquilizers in the 1950s and 1960s, became an alcoholic and gambler in the 1970s and she wants to preach to me? Hell, I quit drugs out of boredom. Some addict I am. Thank god I was a failure at it. She was a champ. She could get addicted to anything.

In the end, she got addicted to buying things on QVC and local auctions. Useless things that no one needs. Sometimes she bought useful things and never took them out of the package. Perfectly good items never even looked at. Just bought. Our mother believed, hook line and sinker, QVC's claims that certain things were "collector's items" and would be "worth money" in a few years. As an addict she believed her pusher. As a result there were ceramic items worth very little. Certainly the items were worth a great deal less than what she paid for them.

The other thing our mother collected was animals, cats in particular. The cats had turned the house into a huge litter box. The stench of the urine and feces was overpowering. We shoveled it out. Many things were ruined by the piles of feces, cat hair and the snot from sick cats sneezing on them. None of the cats had seen a vet, many were unapproachable and feral in the house. A friend had trapped and removed most of them by the time we got there. A few cats were still in residence but they were kicked out into the yard to fend for themselves.

Lucky was one of those ferals. This poor cat had contracted just about everything a cat can get. His eyes told a tale of distemper. He had a scar from a huge abscess that had healed. He sneezed constantly. His coat was rough. Lucky's tail had been run over repeatedly by our mother's wheel chair. It had a bent spot and hooked at the end. Lucky wanted to be everyone's friend. The poor kitten just wanted to be loved, but no one dared pick him up. He was completely unadoptable. Had he been trapped and taken to a shelter he would've been destroyed inside 12 hours. I decided Lucky should be allowed to take his chances with the great outdoors. He seemed like a tough little guy. When he was finally kicked out of the house, 12 hours outside the house cleared up his poor eyes some. The effect of having been outside away from the ammonia in the house. Unfortunately, he was totally an indoor kitten and didn't even know where to find water, let alone food. Let's hope he's as intelligent as he is tough.

We were too late for 16 other kittens. They were dead all over the house. One mummified cat upstairs was probably locked in when the upstairs was permanently closed. The poor animal probably died of heat and thirst. Others were found flattened under piles of things. They were probably sick and crawled into small spaces to die. Many were flattened by the crowd of junk piled on top of them after they died. Many were barely recognizable as cats. Only the skull said what the pile of fur was. Even the bones were turning to dust. Some were dead under the bed. Only one cat as a recent death. He had crawled under the grandfather clock and was still putrefying.

In the end we moved two and a half tons of garbage, ruined furnishings, contaminated clothing, unsalvagable housewares, etc. Multiple generations of memories were hauled in a grain truck to the garbage dump.

If you have an elderly relation living alone, check on them. Don't believe their tales of "everything is ok." Look and, even if it causes a family fight, move them to a safe and clean place if you can. If you are the owner of the property, pull your rank as landlord and evict before you lose the property to the cost of repairs.

Profound Thoughts On Pot

Two times in my life I’ve had a world changing profound thought. Both times I was high on pot. The first time I was 16 and had the good fortune to have a friend with a hippy mom. Her mom thought any drug was harmless if it was natural. Her kids toked up on a regular basis without fear. Just as long as they left Mom’s stash alone.

For Christmas one year she decided to give the kids a present. She made certain that Santa left them a kilo of weed under the tree. Yeah, an entire two point two pound brick of good Acapulco. We dived headfirst into that brick like it was a swimming pool filled with chocolate.

By this time in history I was seeing my friend’s brother. It wasn’t just convenience, it was love. Or a strange lust after a night of beer binging, pot smoking and puking in the driveway. Yeah, those were the good old days. But I digress.

After smoking as much pot as we could inhale off that brick, I suddenly had a profound thought. This thought was going to change the world. It was going to reorder the universe. I had to write it down. I found a way to get upright and ambulatory. I went to the most logical place to get pen and paper, the kitchen. There I found my boyfriend leaning over the sink.

“No two drips are the same,” he said, not looking up.

I thought that was pretty good, but not profound. I abandoned him for pen and paper, which I found on the dryer on the back porch. I wrote down my profound thought and left it under the salt-shaker on the kitchen table. It was time for bed. Which ended up being the recliner. I went to sleep communing with the whales, who were in an ocean that was a good twenty miles away. (Turned out it was just Pink Floyd over and over. But again I digress. Pot does that to you.)

Next morning everyone started drifting in from wherever they had collapsed. The mom was probably at her boyfriend’s place. I remembered my profound thought and went looking for it. I remembered it had something to do with the sink. Somehow that translated to salt-shaker after a wake up toke. My note was where I left it on the kitchen table.

My world changing, universe-reordering thought was:

“There’s a funny smell in the room.”

Flash forward from the god awful seventies to the late irritating nineties. I was camping with a bunch of pagans and things were pretty interesting, but not as weird as the world would like to think. One of the guys had a teenage son with him who happened to have a few joints on hand. It had been over a decade since I had smoked my way up the AlCan Highway in the dead of winter, crossing two international borders with a cat, a dog, a rat, a husband and a big stash of weed in the car, and I figured I was about due for a hit. I partook of the pagan’s weed and settled in to enjoy the campfire.

At some point after the weed took hold of my brain I had another of those profound thoughts. This time I did not write it down. No, this time I announced it to the world straight away, or actually, leaned over to my friend and said:

“I just smoked a joint and ruined a perfectly good party. I’m going to bed.”

Roman Story: On The Farm

I have things to say. I just don't feel like saying them right now. So here's a story beginning to read. If you want, finish it.

It is the second year of drought. I am not certain how much longer this can go on. My father's farms are not going to bring in much. The whole idea of farming is becoming a losing proposition.

Now I remember these are no longer my father's farms. They are my farms. My father lost his life for Rome. He lost it for our way of life. He lost it for his farms and the farms of every other patrician in Rome. His glorious funeral was last month. I am still not used to the idea of being the head of the family.

I look out over the dusty fields. A couple of slaves mend a fence. How will I justify keeping them if the farms do not produce? I notice they are not working all that hard. I will have to speak to Quintelus. He needs to get after them more. Spare the rod; spoil the slave.

I walk back to the family villa. My sister Julia is seated on our overlook. She has her paints out.

"So, will you send that one to the Emperor?" I startle her.

"Lucius!" She groans, "You need to stop sneaking up like that."

"I was just admiring your work." I protest.

"You are just trying to make me make a mistake." She knows me far too well.

Julia taps her brush end on her chin, "I saw you walk from the south fields. Do you think the crops will come in?"

"No." I stretch myself out on the grass. "The rains didn't come in time, so the grain will not head enough to harvest."

"That's not good," Julia frowns, "With mother making big sacrifices and sponsoring games in our father's name, we need the money."

I consider this, "We'll get by. No one will say that the Julian family has become middle class. Good crops or bad."

Julia is not convinced. She dabs at her painting. Putting down her brush, "You know mother doesn't really care about the honor of father's name but what the games and sacrifices look like. She only cares about who will talk about it and what they will say. Father's memory is just a convenient excuse for her to show off. If it is not bigger than everyone else's then she will think we've gone middle class. I seriously don't think she has any idea what our situation really is."

"You've been peeking at my books again." I shake a finger at my nosey sister. "Bad Julia. No man will want a nosey woman for a wife."

She turns to me. "The money is gone, isn't it?"

I carefully form my words, "We are not poor. The farms are our main source of income now. Father sold off our businesses to fund his part in the war. Prices have gone up on everything except grain since some of the eastern routes are too dangerous. To top it off, mother spends like it's twenty years ago and we had a position at court."

"Are you going to the City?" Julia asks. "Will you take his senate seat?"

"I'm afraid I must if we are to keep our influence."

Julia gives me a sad look, "I will miss you."

I shoot her a look. "What? You're not coming?"

"No." She turns back to her painting. She takes a couple of slow strokes at the picture. "I have decided to stay here where it is quiet." She smiles down at me, "I want to have time to paint."

"I know you are not interested in mother's parties and friends, but what about a husband?"

"I've been thinking about that," she says. "With our finances, a dowry would be too great an expense." Julia smiles, "And I'm just not interested in anything mother might find for me."

"Oh, you wouldn't want a fat, perfumed senator?" I tease. "Or how about one of those feminine senators' sons?"

"Like you?" My sister arches one eyebrow in a return tease.

I get up and stretch. The air is too dry. All wrong for this time of year. It smells of famine, disease and unrest. Looking over our property, I wonder if we will be visited by plague again.

One hundred years ago Rome was hit hard by the Antonine Plague. Our countryside was severely depopulated. Since then, we have had nothing but lawlessness, taxation and inflation. The troubles have driven the honest freemen from their tenancy on the farms to the city. The government encouraged it by creating a dole to prop up the slave merchants who bought influence from the senators. Slaves can make a fortune for a man, but bankrupt the government since slaves and the wealthy who own them pay no taxes.

I am forced to buy slaves to work my land since there are no freemen left to work for me. The taxes here in the countryside are just too high for them to stay with me. Cheaper to be an indigent on the dole. So I am force to use a work force that I have to whip into their work. I also have to house and feed them. Something I never had to do with the free tenants. Whoever did the math and said slaves are cheaper than freemen was an illiterate.

I muse. These are the things I would tackle in the Senate. Even as young as I am, I know that the Senate is not there to pass good laws. It exists to enrich those who sit on the benches. Senators can vote themselves lucrative "public works" and can gain favor from the populace by holding day after day of games.

I feel as Julia does. The Eternal City is a waste of time. If she is not happy with the lazy, effete men of Rome, then I am equally fed up with the idiotic, amoral women. They say that to find a virgin these days you must enter a nursery and steal the girl as she nurses from the breast.

Unfortunately, I have our family to look after, so off to Rome I must go. I must secure my position in the senate and my family's position in society. I might as well secure my share of the public revenue. Oh, and I guess I should look for a wife as well. The family will need another heir.

Dumb Dog

Barefoot in the dark because of the dog. Winner of the "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge"

Ouch, ouch, ouch. I'm going to kill that dog. When I get my hands on that barking rat, I'm going to kill him. I'm going to marinate him, then I’m going to stick him on the spit. Yeeouch! Why didn't I slip my shoes on before chasing the dog? I somehow managed to grab the flashlight. I guess I can beat the dog with it when I catch him.

Oh great. Now I'm in deep doodoo. I just fell headfirst into the swimming pool. Actually, it's what will be the swimming pool. Right now it's a hole in the ground. Where's the flashlight? Wonderful, my ankle is toast. So is the dog when I get my fingers around his throat.

Speak of the devil, here is the hound from hell now and what's that in his mouth? Dogs are disgusting. They will wrap their lips around anything. The more revolting, the better he likes it. Don't just look at me. Make like Lassie and go get some help. Nope. Not my dog. He's just going to stand there on the edge of this hole with what looks like a bird's nest in his mouth and look like what he is: a dumb dog.

It is cold out, my feet are cold, my ankle hurts and hello, what's this? Why is my cell phone in my pocket and not in the house on the charger? Ok, one time I can say my absentmindedness is useful.

I dial my other half and pray he's not in the middle of something noisy at the studio. Meanwhile, my dumb dog has put down his prize and looks at me with that stupid, happy expression.

"Hello, honey? I'm in a hole."

In Memorium

Joyce Halstead July 17, 1928 to July 28, 2010

My words for my mother's funeral:

Last time we were at one of these events Mom and I got into trouble for laughing. We were remembering the silly things Dad did. But that was Mom, she could find the humor in the worst situations. It was a form of sanity. One I've learned to use since.

Was she a saint? No. We are glad she wasn't. If she had been, she would've been bland and boring, and that's everyone else's mom.

There is a quote from Act III, Scene II of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream that describes her perfectly: "And though she be but little, she is fierce." That stubborn temper could get her in trouble one minute and out of it the next. But I know I'm in trouble now for that "little part." She always said she was 5'2" and a half inches tall. Never forget that half. She didn't.

Speaking of trouble. She could be devastatingly funny. It seemed the more trouble I was in, the funnier she got. And then I got in trouble for appreciating the funny by laughing. One of her witicisms that should be immortalized was "If you had a brain you'd take it out and play with it." Now you see why keeping a straight face was so difficult while she was trying to impart wisdom and discipline.

She was the involved mom. She would hold an animal at a fair, cut up oranges for the soccer team or use her nice station wagon as a livestock hauler...or a kid hauler. It wasn't unusual for her to load up an entire 4-H club and go to some event. These were the days before every kid had to have his or her own seat belt and you could just stack 'em in the back.

She snuck education in on our summer vacations. We learned about the western half of the US from the back of the station wagon. We saw the historic and the beautiful while traveling to and from Kansas to visit family. These trips taught us to enjoy the journey, not just the destination.

She would show you how to shoot a gun or sew a seam, and gender didn't enter into her mind. If you think you're capable, do it. She was far ahead of her time in that way. She was a one woman women's movement, but couldn't stand the Feminist Movement of the 70s. She inspired me to do as I please because she did.

Quotable Me

The following quotes are my own creations. They are constantly updating as life marches on. These quotes are not from some larger piece. They are stand alone writings. Sometimes a person just has a short something to say to the world. (Hey, isn't that a new quote?)

After spending an evening with a former boyfriend I realized: "I find it amusing that men who have been involved with me are completely astonished when they find I have a talent for something. I explain to them that they would have noticed said talent had they not been so enamoured of themselves."

When asked why I divorced, I sat thinking about the real reasons. After a moment I came up with: "I used to think I left my husband because of his deceit and infidelity, but now I realize that it was entirely my distaste for being told what to do."

Someone asked me why I was so cynical about relationships, I answered: "Don't mistake bitter cynicsm for abject terror."

One day I thought about why I am the way I am and why my life is as it is: "I've always been about the journey. When I get to where I'm going, I check on everyone's health and happiness. I find out who is dying, who has died and who should die. Then I'm ready to go home by a different route. I don't believe in hanging around. I treat just about every aspect of my life that way. It doesn't matter if it is traveling, education, career, or even love, I am just not interested in the destination."

After encountering the indifference to the war in Iraq I came to this conclusion: "The problem with this country is that we haven't had a war on our soil since 1865. Unless you're Native American, and then you can move that forward a couple more decades. But the result is the same. We don't know what war is. We haven't had to suffer. Maybe it would be good for us if we did."

A hard won lesson that has resurfaced again and again: "Something I learned in the Army, and have had proven to me over and over since, is that a man can screw up and, after a little razzing from his friends, be forgiven just about anything. If a woman screws up, she's forgiven nothing. Ever."

This explains my bank account: "I will never be rich. I just don't have a good sense of greed."

"Churches, temples, etc. are vehicles in which a man who cannot gain a country to govern, governs other men using their lack of self confidence and fear of death, and that governance frequently dives into corruption and sadism because there is no one who can call the leadership to account since their authority is from a source conspicuously and conveniently absent."

"On faith I firmly believe in 'Religion is what you do on Sunday; faith is what you do everyday.' Now that thought in hand, I believe that if you are your own clergy and your own Pope, you will be healthy, happy and have a balanced view of the world since your views are not dictated by a third party."

"I've come the realization as to why I quit doing drugs while still in high school: I was bored."

XT 250 on the Freeway - Plus Rant

I'm exhausted. A Yamaha XT 250 is brutal on a long trip. I did an 80 mile trip down to Oceanside from Hollywood. It was not a fun trip.

I got passed by everything and it's cousin while I was doing 70mph. The bike would head shake if I went faster. The wind got to the bike and caused more head shake.

The worst part of riding such a small bike is the god awful seat. Imagine straddling a cinder block for two and a half hours. No more riding anywhere that takes more than an hour.

-----------------------------------------------
Rant:

Don't drop names with me if you want something. I'm not impressed. It makes me drag my feet. Most stars are whiny throw-aways with more hang ups than a coat closet who are an inconvenience at best. Why would I be impressed by that? Name dropping may play well in Kansas but I live here. I'm as impressed with that as I am a map to the stars' homes. A map to the stars' homes make a great paper for the dog to pee on. Too bad I can't let him pee on a star.

Neglect

I should not neglect this. I love to write, but some days you just look at the blog and wonder, does anyone ever read this crap?

Ok, here's the plan:

1. Start putting my writings up. I'll start with some of the archived stuff. So you might be reading short stories, parts of longer possibilities, stuff I put on other sites (I don't feel like repeating myself), quotes by yours truely and other random "literature."

2. Occasional political rants. To become more than occasional if shit doesn't straighten up soon.

3. Random bullshit.

4. Get used to the language. I'm old enough not to care anymore.

-------

Random Thought:

Get used to these....

The only reason unemployment is being held hostage is that one particular party doesn't like the fact that they lost the presidency. Rather childish but look at their record over the past 2 years. On top of that, if any one of their party decides to actually think and vote their conscience or constituency, that person is ostracized and an attempt at getting rid of them the next election cycle begins. If only the American people would wake up to the fact that if unemployment runs out, the rest of us who are employed could face another Great Depression that could throw us out of work. Remember, Hoover didn't believe in relief for the unemployed, and look where that got us. And remember, Hoover was a Republican.

Starting with a small rant

Why do I have to get out of bed? I will just have to get back in it. I'm going back to bed now.