About Grant Rost A big chunk of our community just returned from Stetson’s Educating Advocacy Teachers (EATS) conference. If you have never been, you should go. I feel sad when I leave the conference but there is also another feeling I easily find within me. I leave feeling inspired. And because I left EATS feeling inspired, I decided
BY GRANT ROST As a torts professor, I get regular emails from a listserv that compiles and summarizes new torts cases from around the country. In a recent blast, I discovered a case from Idaho that combined two of my favorite subjects: torts and cognitive biases. In this case, a plaintiff reported to an emergency
BY GRANT ROST I don’t read much fiction. However, this past year I’ve probably read more fiction than I have in 30 years. Sometimes life encourages escapism. Sometimes it practically mandates it. I just finished my most recent escape. I tore through the books of Cixin Liu’s Three Body Problem trilogy. Perhaps Netflix will send
BY GRANT ROST A few nights ago, I came across my daughter reading The Fellowship of the Ring. She’s a voracious reader, but this was really her first full-fledged effort with Tolkien. I noticed she was nearing the end of the book. I inquired on how it was going. “Ugh. I just want to be
By Grant Rost It’s hard to keep up with the vernacular used to describe a given generation of people. I know that I’m considered to be part of Gen X. I feel like the only reason I know what age bracket a “Boomer” falls into comes by virtue of knowing the date World War
One day, long after my wife and I had lost a bid on a house, we got a call from our realtor asking us if we were still interested in the house. We were. Since the owner had come back to us to ask us for a new offer, I bid $4,000 less than the
The summer before I started law school I worked as an umpire in the northeast corner of Ohio. I umped for youth baseball and softball and the kids I saw ranged from 9 to nearly 19. It’s not a terrible gig, actually. I made $25 to $30 a game, which paid for a whole lot
Each of us has been outside at night, in the darkness of a new moon, and craned our heads backward to look upward. Overhead, a dark blue blanket flecked with stars, cut in half by a faint and milky haze. The lack of summer humidity meant the sky revealed its depths as if it were
On January 21st of 1959, a freighter travels down the darkened waters of the Buffalo River, headed with the river’s westerly flow. It’s 10:45 p.m. She moves effortlessly with the current, her boilers completely cool. She moves without propulsion, without a captain, without direction. She is the MacGilvray Shiras, more than 400 feet in length
It was dim but the lights and fanfare of the amusement park turned the darkness of a summer night into a lively dusk. I was 11 years old. I was standing at the edge of a safety fence looking up and watching carefully as train after train of screeching roller-coaster riders looped through the spirals