Tuesday, May 31, 2005

I Went To The Bookstore Today...

...and noticed a section called "Christian Fiction". Isn't this a bit redundant?

Monday, May 30, 2005

The 9/11 Story We Didn't Hear

Note: We posted this a while back, right after we started the blog. We have both been busy lately and haven't had time to write much, so I reposted this for the benefit of new readers. Just like every sitcom does a clip show, we might repost something old from time to time for people who haven't delved into our archives.

After the families of the victims and residents of New York, who were the people most affected by the attacks on the actual day of the tragedy? The stoners who slept until 3 or 4 in the afternoon. Most people watched as it all happened, minute by minute. While still very troubling, you at least had time to digest what was going on. These stoners had no such luxary. Think about it...Tuesday afternoon, the stoner awakes after a long night of partying with a headache. He lights a cigarette, pours a bowl of Captain Crunch, and turns on the Cartoon Network to catch the last 15 minutes of Sponge Bob. While flipping through the channels, he happens past CNN, and stops, thinking he is watching some Jerry Bruckheimer movie. Slowly in dawns upon him that Paula Zahn never appeared in a Jerry Bruckheimer film. CNN begins it's recap of the events at the bottom of the hour. Stoner is shocked. Plane hits tower. Second plane hits other tower. Plane hits Pentagon. Plane suspiciuosly crashes in Pennslyvania. Towers collapse. Stoner went to bed at 4:30 am after a wicked party over at his buddy's house. Now, the world is ending. Because of his heightend state of paranoia due to his excessive pot smoking, Stoner is unable to handle the situation. His mind races. To calm himself, he takes a couple of the valiums he swiped from his ex girlfriend before she bolted. Stoner sits in a sullen state, watching CNN for hours until his friend stops by. Friend had to work today, so he processed the information as it happened. He is unprepared for Stoner's mood. Stoner launches into a Dennis-Hopper-in-Apocolypse-Now stream of consciousness monologue about what it all means. Stoner takes a few more valium and hits the sack. He awakes the next day, still shaken about the events of the previous 24 hours, and vows to change his life, make something of himself. A week later, Stoner has accepted what has happened and moved on. He has not changed a bit. But that sure was a scary 72 hours.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

There Is Wisdom In His Foolishness

Not too long ago I was at home, and went out to eat with my parents. At the restaurant, on the way to the restroom, I saw a former high school classmate waiting tables. I was never really friends with this guy, but we knew each other well enough that I had to acknowledge him. Meetings like this are always awkward, especially when the other person asks what I am doing, and I have to reveal I am in law school. I approached carefully, hoping to get out with just an exchange of 'hellos'. But he seemed to be in the mood to chat, and I was stuck.

He asked what I was doing these days, and I sheepishly replied that I am in law school. "Wow, that great", he said. "I really wish I had done things differently in college and done something like that. You know, make a lot of money. That would be sweet." I informed him that it isn't that great, and that, in fact, it sucks. I then inquired what he was up to. "Right now, just waiting tables, saving cash. Then this Fall, I'm moving to Colorado to become a ski instructor. It's something I always wanted to do." I told him that sounded great, wished him luck, excused myself and continued to the restroom. Along the way, I realized that this guy has it together much more than I do. He knows what he wants to do and is doing it, while I hate what I am doing. He seemed envious of me being in law school, and I am just as envious of him and his quixotic life plans.

I find it ironic that this guy sees law school as a path to personal success, and thus, happiness, while I, having just finished my second year of law school, consider dropping it all, moving to Colorado and becoming a ski instructor a path to personal happiness and thus, success.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Rejection Letter Madness

Almost every law student experiences a healthy dose of rejection when they are searching for a summer job. Since I am not ranked in the top 10% at a top 10 school, nor do I have close family connections to set me up with a nice summer clerkship, finding a job requires a little more effort. In addition to checking the job postings at the CSO, this means sending out lots of resumes. This, in turn, means that I have received my fair share of rejection letters. But not all rejection letters are the same. Here are a few examples of what I received.

Dear [Mike],
The position which you interviewed for has been filled.



This one is short and sweet and to the point, which I can appreciate. The only problem is that they used an entire piece of company letterhead to send one sentence. If this is their standard rejection letter, they should get company postcards printed up. It would be cheaper.
Dear [Mike],
At this time we are not hiring a law clerk. We will keep your resume on file if our needs change.

Interpretation: We might hire a summer law clerk, if the nephew of our founding partner needs a job. Your resume is in the trash. Thanks for writing.

Dear [Mike],
Thank you for your resume. Your qualifications were very impressive, but at this time, we have no plans to hire a summer clerk. I am fully confident that a person with your qualifications will have no problem finding summer employment. Best of luck.

This is by far my favorite. I received several like this. They build you up as they reject you. This is the equivalent of a girl saying: ‘Mike, you are a great guy who will make some girl very happy. But I’m just not looking for a relationship right now’. Even though you suspect you are being bullshitted, it’s just too nice to get angry with.
Dear [Mike],
Thank you for your interest in the summer clerk position with the University’s Legal Services Office. Unfortunately, you are not one of the applicants chosen for an interview. We felt that your qualifications did not match those of the ideal candidate.


When I first received this, I thought I misread it. It is harsh and vague. I’m not sure what qualifications they were looking for, since my GPA and class rank were well within the parameters specified within the job posting, and they didn’t require any special skills or experience. But this one is nice compared to the worst one I got:

Dear [Mike],
We received your cover letter and resume indicating an interest in a summer clerkship. We regret to inform you that you have not been selected for an interview. Your qualifications did not match up to some of the other applicants, or to the high standards we impose upon our summer clerks. Good luck with the rest of law school.

Interpretation: Dear Mike: Fuck you. Who do you think you are? Did you actually think a prestigious law firm like ours would hire someone like you? You and your non-Ivy league law school make me sick. I hate myself and my life, so I’m taking it out on you. Thanks for playing, asshole.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

My trip to the gym

Well it's summer so I started going back to the gym after a month's hiatus during finals. I started to notice that the gym has some stereotypical members, which I decided to list below:

The owner: He’s hip. He’s cool. He owns a warehouse full of heavy weights. Whatever pubescent issue he’s trying to resolve lets just thank the Good Lord that he didn’t, instead, open up one of those record stores that stink of incense, hemp, and pretension.

The Fat Guy/Girl: The journey of a 1000 miles begins with a single step. No one said that step wouldn’t be supported by a bloated ankle covered in sweat. I really admire these people because it’s got to be hard wearing a sweatpants and a sweatshirt in the only place where wearing a unitard is acceptable.

The Skinny Kid: I used to be one of these really painfully thin kids who the school nurse would take aside and ask what my parents fed me the night before. I eventually got a normal metabolism but there are still plenty of Arnold Schwarzeneggers out there trapped in Mohatma Gandhi’s body. Such is life, for every lithe Kate Moss, there is a scrawny Topher Grace. I have to say that I find it comical to see a 120 lbs guy struggle with a 20 lbs of weight but there’s probably a guy who’s like 250 who laughs at me.

The Gay Guy: If you keep meeting your goals at the gym and don’t fall off the wagon (like I always do) there are two people that you will hope to become, the steroid monkey guy, who’s neck is bigger than his head, or that guy who seems to manage that delicate balance between size and tone. Wait a minute! Why does that guy have his hair done while he works out? Why is he wearing designer work out clothes? Why have I seen him in the real world working at Express for Men?

The Hot Girl: She’s willing to wear spandex in public! There is no greater vote of confidence in one’s body. Oh, to be one of those machines she works out on! But don’t try and make eye contact or even dare a smile, she’ll look right through you. You may think she’s being a jerk. But, when you’re that hot, your body is probably your livelihood and, therefore, you’re workout should be all business. Don’t think ill of her, just enjoy the view and dismiss her dismissal. After all, as the song says, “Baby, you’ve got to be cruel to be kind”

The Roid-Monkey: This guy kills me. Actually, if he wanted to, he could physically kill me. But, No matter how big this guy gets, no matter how much his veins bulge, no matter how many things he eats or drinks that end in the suffix “plex,” I will always be, at 6’3”, at least 6 inches taller than this guy. These guys are always short and trying to resolve some self-esteem problem. In his quest for physical “perfection” the Roid-Monkey will always be Icarus: too far from being the bird, his vision of ideal masculinity, and too close to the sun, testicular cancer.

Monday, May 23, 2005

High School Memory

In high school there were always a couple kids who seemed kind of...damaged. They'd walk around school with their shoulders drooping, a big sour puss face, wearing a dirty black T-shirt. Pre-Columbine, you could flick tightly-wrapped paper footballs at them in class and they would pretend not to notice. At the time, I was way too young to wonder why they acted that way, I just chalked it up to being "weird."

Well one day, I got a little more insight than I wanted.

In chemistry class we started off really slow, learning what a mole is. The teacher even played a song about it which I remember to this day, "A mole is a unit or have you heard, six times two to the twenty third." Then we all had to submit a drawing of a mole doing something that involved the word mole (if it's not clear, yet, I went to a really bad high school)

I submitted a picture of a mole in a bowl of chips and called it, "GuacaMOLE." I remember my buddy doing a picture of a mole with a golf club titled, "MOLE in one."

The weird kid gave the teacher a picture of a little mole with a nervous look on his face. Behind the little mole was a bigger mole who had his hand on the little mole's shoulder. He titled it, "MOLEst".

Addendum: Of course, this got around the school and the kid said he wasn't molested. He was just making a concerted effort to be weird.

Friday, May 20, 2005

Nicknames

I was watching GoodFellas yesterday for the first time in years. In one scene, they go around the room, introducing all the gangters in that crew. These guys usually had colorful nicknames based on some characteristic of theirs. Freddy No Nose had a very small nose. Fat Andy was really fat. Jimmy Two Times said everything twice. One of the guys was named Frankie the Wop. Which makes me wonder just how big of a wop he would have to be to gain that nickname amongst all those guys.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Hillbillies or, as they like to be called, Sons of the Soil

Yesterday, Mike made a post about how he found both the employees and customers of Wal-Mart humorous. Some people took offense to this and thought that Mike was being elitist. Guess what? If you can’t make fun of white trash then there’s no one left that you can make fun of. Plus, white trash don’t seem to mind being called “trash” so long as you remember that they’re still white.

Let’s face it, every white person whose ancestors got here before 1900 has a branch of the family that decided to “stay on the farm.” The branch that reads Barron’s and the New Yorker does not have a lot of genetic drift between it and the branch that practices its pig calls. The only real difference is that the trashier branch made a legitimate choice to not be sophisticated. Maybe there’s wisdom in their foolishness, after all the root of the word sophisticated is “sophist”.

What if there was a white trash sophistication? Would they make a movie about it like they did with the sophistication de jour of upper middle class America, wine, like they did in “Sideways”. If they did, here’s what I think it would look like

“On yer Side: A RussAndMike Production”

(scene: Driving in a beat up dodge truck down a beat up road)

Jack: Golly, Miles. Thanks fer taking me up through backcountry Appalachia on a Moonshine tasting trip.

Miles: T’weren’t nothing, Jack. A man only gets engaged a few times in his life. This is least I could after you decided to do the honorable thing with my sister and/or my cousin.

(scene: Out in the woods beside a still with the owner, sporting the finest in overall apparel)

Miles: Now when you take your first sip, see if you go blind. If you don’t, then you know it’s good. Make sure to brush the cheeto dust off your lips before you imbibe.

(Miles sips the clear liquid out of a mason jar. He then savors the sip)

Miles: I’m detecting strong undertones of Corn Mash, very reminiscent of White Lightning ’87. And if I’m not mistaken there’s a whiff, just a whiff, of an actually organic substance in here. Did you add some American Cheese?

Still owner: Nope. That’s just the turpentine workin’ on you.

Miles: Excellent! Do you accept Meth in trade?

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

My Trip to Wal-Mart

This past weekend my DVD player stopped working. This neither surprised nor concerned me, since I bought it for $29 dollars last November at Radio Shack. Frankly, I was happy it lasted as long as it did. Money was running tight, but I needed a new DVD player. However, I decided that I wanted my new DVD player to be made by a company I had heard of, and hopefully, to last at least a full year. I set myself a budget of $60 and headed out to the one place where I knew I could find a decent DVD player for that price: Wal-Mart.

I hate Wal-Mart. But my reasons for hating Wal-Mart are not the typical ones. I do not care that they are a big greedy corporation that runs small businesses into the ground. I do not care that they use unfair and possibly illegal employment practices. I do not care that they use extortion to force companies to sell them their products at low, low prices. I hate going to Wal-Mart because when I am there, it is more likely than not that I am the most educated person in the store, and I’m not sure I could handle the leadership responsibilities if there were some sort of disaster that trapped us all in the store for an extended period of time. But I tempted fate and went off the buy a new DVD player.

As I was walking through the store, I experienced the same déjà vu feeling that I have every time I go to Wal-Mart. The reason for this is simple: every Wal-Mart is the same. I have been to Wal-Mart in the Midwest, the Deep South, the Mid-Atlantic States, and the Southwest, and each store looks the same, smells the same, and has the same cast of characters working there and shopping there. The other day I observed a few of these characters.

The only person that I actually had any interaction with was the guy back in the electronics section. This guy is typically a mid-twenties or older tech geek who couldn’t quite make the cut at Best Buy. He has the air of knowledge about technology that only one and a half semesters at ITT Tech can give you. He spends his time between helping customers conferring with his fellow tech geeks about the latest installment of Grand Theft Auto and making fun of the customer who just bought an X-Box. “Playstation 3 is coming out soon. Have fun with your outdated system”, he says sarcastically. This sparks a debate between the tech geeks about the merits of different video game consoles. The tech geek eventually notices me browsing the DVD players and sidles over, asking if he can help. I tell him no, and pick up the box of the chosen player (57.98, made by Philips…Score). He tries to sell me any number of accessories, which I politely decline. He gets the hint and sidles back to his fellow tech geeks, undoubtedly to make fun of my selection.

On my way to check out, I saw one of the most common shoppers you find at Wal-Mart: The fat, ugly mother with her fat, ugly kids. They are always a sight to see. The mother wore her brown hair in a nice feathered perm, circa 1989, a t-shirt commemorating the 1997 co-national champion University of Michigan football team, and black gym shorts. The shorts are, of course, too tight, and her legs are pasty white and display several bruises. She is blissfully ignorant of the fact that the University of Michigan has a whole system set up to keep people like her away from their campus. Her kids aren’t much better. The oldest, a boy of about 7, had a rat tail. I could stop there, but then I couldn’t tell you that he wore a WWE t-shirt and ripped jeans. The middle child, a girl of about 5, was crying, presumably because her mother wouldn’t buy her some toy, and not because her mother had dressed her up in a hideous floral print shirt which was way too tight (because she was so fat) and spandex pants. The youngest child was about 2. I could not tell if it was a boy or girl, with its androgynous bowl haircut and overalls. Its face was covered with some sort of red sticky substance, and it intermittently cried and screamed between drinks out of a sippy cup. And this was one of the classier families I encountered.

I cut through the clothing department to get to the checkout quicker, where I saw another familiar face, the young white trash woman. From a distance, she appeared to be somewhat cute. But as I approached, that thought quickly gave way to revulsion. She had dyed blond hair with one inch black roots, teeth badly in need of a trip to an orthodontist, and a lizard tattoo on her forearm. She isn’t fat, but she has definitely had a few kids, most certainly by different fathers. It is well within the realm of possibility that she once worked in a low end topless bar, before one too many stretch marks ended her career. At this point I realized that she is about my age (25). Yikes. Here I am, a year away from getting my JD and starting my life, and here she is, a mother, working at Wal-Mart after having been spit out the bottom of the porn industry.

Finally, I get to the checkout. The cashier is about 30, chubby, but with no noticeably disfigurement. She isn’t hideous, but she isn’t pretty either. I am immediately reminded of the scene in Sideways, when Jack describes an overweight waitress as “Two tons of fun. You know, the grateful type.” The she opens her mouth. She had the thickest, deepest southern twang I’ve ever heard, and I don’t even live in the South. She starts going on and on about my DVD player, how she wants to buy one, etc. I try not to be rude, but I also don’t want to engage in conversation. I smile and nod politely as she rings me up, swipes my credit card, hands me a pen, all the while yapping away in her annoying accent about her job, house life and anything else that came to mind. I quickly signed the receipt and got out of there.

I began speed-walking out to the parking lot. I couldn’t take any more Wal-Mart. It’s all too much for me. Once I got to the safety of my car, I made a life decision: Next time, I’m going to Target.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Soul Man

The 1980’s was a golden age of bad entertainment: Bad music, bad television, and bad movies. And yet we take a guilty pleasure in enjoying this awful stuff. One of the worst movies made in the decade (and one of my favorites) is about law school. I’m referring to, of course, Soul Man. If you haven’t had the pleasure of seeing Soul Man, let me give you a brief synopsis:

Mark Watson is a rich California kid. He and his idiot friend, Gordon, are admitted to Harvard Law School. Mark’s dad decides to teach his son a life lesson and not pay for law school. Mark tries to figure out a way to pay for law school. Somehow he can’t secure a loan, and begins searching for a scholarship. Gordon finds one that awards a full ride to a student from the Los Angeles area. The only problem is that the scholarship is meant for a black student. But Gordon has an idea…

Mark takes an excess of experimental tanning pills to darken his skin. He gets a perm. And he passes himself of as African-American, and is awarded the scholarship. Mark arrives at Harvard, but encounters some things he never expected, like prejudiced landlords and racist jokes. He meets a tough, demanding black professor played by James Earl Jones, who expects more from Mark because he is black. He also meets a black single mother who is a student at HLS, who would have been awarded the scholarship had Mark not taken it. Predictably, they fall in love.

Eventually, Mark’s secret is discovered through a series of misunderstandings and hijinks. There is the predictable scene in front of the disciplinary committee where Gordon gives an impassioned speech in defense of Mark. He should be kicked out of school, but since he learned a valuable lesson, Harvard decides to let him stay and continue his legal education - as a white student.

This movie is very bad, even by 80’s standards. This movie is racially insensitive, even by Jim Crow standards. Yet it somehow works. A few more thoughts and observations:

**A bold choice here, as this is the first time a white actor appeared in blackface since the Vaudeville era.

**At no time do Mark and Gordon appear to be remotely intelligent, yet they attend Harvard. And Legally Blond, also set at Harvard Law, features another seemingly brain-dead law student. If I went to Harvard, I’d be offended that Hollywood perceives Harvard admissions to be slightly less rigorous than the average 4th-tier school.

**Despite his best efforts, Mark did not appear to be the least bit black. He did not appear to be half black, a quarter black, an eighth black, or any other fraction. He looked like a white guy covered in bronzer and a bad perm. But nobody’s suspicions were ever raised. I can understand if some of his WASP-y Harvard classmates didn’t suspect anything, as he was probably the first black guy they had seen up close. But how did James Earl Jones, the salty black professor, not suspect anything? More importantly, why did James Earl Jones agree to do this movie? Couldn’t they have found a less dignified actor to play the role? Was Robert Townsend busy? For shame, James Earl. For shame.

**Finally, Mark perpetrated a huge fraud against both Harvard and the scholarship committee, yet nobody sued. How is this possible? Mark easily incurred civil liability here, and probably criminal liability as well, against a law school and a group of law school alumni, who are some of the most litigious people in the world. Yet nobody presses charges? Even worse, they let him come back to school because he “learned a valuable lesson.” Didn’t they have an honor code? Is this the best punishment they could come up with? Wouldn’t this be a major red flag on the character and fitness portion of the bar application?

Friday, May 13, 2005

People You Meet During Exams #5: 3Lian Gonzalez.

In the year 2000, our hearts and minds were captured by an innocent young Cuban boy who wanted nothing more than freedom. We were captured by his youthful enthusiasm, unaware that around the corner waited a midnight raid and a return to his oppressive homeland. In our very own law classrooms, a similar creature exists. The graduating 3L, with all his youthful exuberance of freedom from this oppressive island, bounces around without a care in the world, gleefully unaware of the horrors that await him: The real world.

Elian Gonzalez: "Aye yay yay! Mi mama es muerto!"
3Lian Gonzalez: "Aye yay yay! There's nothing I could do to change my GPA, even if I wanted to."

Elian Gonzalez: His "uncle" took him to Disneyworld so he could experience America.
3Lian Gonzalez: Went to the bar the night before the exam.

Elian Gonzalez: Didn't bother to learn English while he was hear because it was a worthless skill in grim, Spanish-speaking Cuba.
3Lian Gonzalez: Didn't bother to learn agency law before the test because it was a worthless skill in the grim, anti-trust litigation department of the law firm he will work for next year.

3Lian Gonzalez is truly a delight to have in the classroom. He reminds us that this long strange voyage is soon to end and, even better, that you really don't have to do anything at the end of it.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

Job Dissatisfaction

Lawyers have one of the highest job dissatisfaction rates of any profession. I wonder if fictional TV lawyers are just as depressed about their careers? I bet they are! In fact, here's what I think "Law & Order"'s Jack McCoy would say about his job satisfaction:

Let me tell you, kids, sometimes your career doesn’t work out the way you thought it would. When I was your age, I was a civil libertarian brimming with optimism. A young peanut farmer from Georgia stole our hearts and Archibald Cox was no longer the face of justice in America.

I had a choice to make, the lucrative world of private practice or the slow steady ladder of public service. Let’s face it, I didn’t have the John Edwards babyface that juries sympathize with. Rather, I had a craggy visage that demanded justice and, therefore, went into the DAs office. I figured, put in my seven years and Cuomo will put me on the bench where I can start enforcing the civil liberties I cherished.

Man, was I wrong. Who knew New York would elect Pataki the Republican? I'm getting passed over for every half-wit conservative they can find.

So here I am stuck in the same job after 15 years. And it’s really terrible. They bring in one ice queen after the other to work with me. But she’s great compared to my boss. He’s always waiving that flag pin on his lapel at me while he tells me “to erase the 4th amendment from my vocabulary,” in that stupid southern accent of his. How did he get this job in New York City? If I’m not listening to Lonnie Brisco’s rambling metaphors during case briefings, I’m at the bar explaining my misgivings over having to try cases that carry the death penalty. It’s not even a secret that I’m miserable, anymore.

Maybe, I should give it all up and join one of those Crime Scene Investigation teams? Those seem to be popular.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

Job Skills

Observation: All job postings call for 'strong' research and writing skills, or 'excellent' research and writing skills. Do any jobs require merely 'adequate' research and writing skills? Or 'average' research and writing skills? Or even 'poor' research and writing skills? Does anyone ever get dissuaded from a job due to their percieved lack of the requistive level of skills?

Law Student: "Wow, this job sounds great. It's in my town, it pays a lot, it's in the area I want to practice...oh, never mind. It says 'candidate must possess excellent research and writing skills.' I would say my skills are good, maybe even superb, but certainly not excellent. No sense in applying. I guess I'll keep looking."

More interestingly, does this odd standard get applied beyond law school?

Employer: "I'm sorry we're going to have to let you go. Your legal writing skills are adequate."

Lawyer: "Doesn't that mean that they're good enough?"

Employer: "Forty is the new thirty, "Bad" means "cool", Adequate is no longer adequate. Get with the times."

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

People You Meet During Exams #4: The Freak Out

One of the most entertaining exam creatures is the Freak Out. This is the person who wilts under the pressure of exams until they have a memorable and embarrassing public breakdown. The Freak Out is expected during the first semester of the first year. Nobody can really fault an emotionally frazzled student embarking on their first set of law school exams to lose it. Usually, this person will either adapt or drop out. But a small number of first semester Freak Outs continue to freak out each subsequent exam session. Their predictable histrionics garner little sympathy past the first semsester. Rather, they provide a much needed comic relief and confidence boost to their more emotionally stable classmates.

The typical freak out comes in two forms: The first is the Preemptive Freak Out. This occurs before they have even started studying. It most often happens between the last day of class an the first exam. This person realizes the amount of work that lies ahead and loses it. This type of freak out is unexpected, but not nearly as entertaining as the other type: The Slow Build. The Slow Build, as the name suggests, slowly wears down as exams wear on. The pressure mounts and they become more frazzled. A percieved poor performance on one exam will increase the pressure on them. So will the complete inability to understand an important concept from one of their classes. You can usually see the warning signs: Mood swings, irritability, unsafe caffine consumption. They will do something ridiculous like spend 40 straight hours at the library. Bags will form under their eyes. They will wear the same clothes for days at a time. Their behavior seems a bit off. Then, all of the sudden, when confiding in a friend, they snap: The tears flow, their voice echos through the library. During the first semester, people will fell sorry for her. After that, they will laugh at her.

Considering the pressure involved in law school exams, one would think that the freak out would be more frequent. The hidden freak-out are aplenty but they prefer to go by the identity: The Functioning Alcoholic.

Monday, May 09, 2005

She's gotta be somebody's baby...

At my school, a recent mass emailing was sent out scorning the people who did not participate in a recent social event. The author went so far as to repeat the old chestnut, “This is supposed to be the greatest time of our lives!”

Really? Then why are all the movies that portray law students, The Paper Chase, Rounders, Soul Man, and even Legally Blonde, about anxiety and being overwhelmed? If these are the best times of our lives, I shudder to think about what lies ahead.

Let’s face it. They’re never going to make a movie called “Fast Times at Yeshiva University’s Benjamin N. Cardozo School of Law.”

…but what if they did? Would the characters have to be changed?

Brad Hamilton (Judge Reinhold) – Superficially, he has it together, but underneath he’s overwhelmed. He needs a job. His relationship falls apart. He’s happy to lie to his parents about his sister’s immoral relationship with an older man. Sounds like this guy went straight from Ridgemont to law school.

Stacy Hamilton (Jennifer Jason Leigh) – She’s in a new environment and she's both intrigued and overwhelmed by all the new pressures. She feels like she’s surrounded by nerds, so she goes outside the school for a relationship. Another potential law student.

Mike Damone (Robert Romanus) – He’s a nerd with his heart in the right place. Well, I guess he’s halfway to being a law student.

Mark “Rat” Ratner (Brian Backer) – This heartless hustler’s never met a friend or a girl who he’s not willing to double cross. Print this man a JD!

Charles Jefferson (Forrest Whitaker) – This football all-star deigns to walk among the mere mortals of his school. Make him an editor of the law review and we wouldn’t even know the difference, other than that nobody dares snicker at the football all-star behind his back.

Mr. Hand (Ray Walston) – This overly demanding professor has the haughty air of a tenured law professor.

Jeff Spicoli (Sean Penn) – Without a care in the world, he orders a pizza during class. I wish stuff like this would actually happen in law school. It should be no surprise that the most likeable character in this movie could never have gone to law school.

Even though the characters might translate, I don’t think the audience would respond the same way. People embraced these characters as high school students, flaws and all. You can chalk up their indiscretions to immaturity. But if you had law students doing the same thing, it would just be another black mark against a profession whose image is already in tatters.

Sunday, May 08, 2005

Conversation with my Girlfriend

Oftentimes, the uncomfortable subject of kids will come up between my girlfriend and I. While I'm not opposed to kids, as a rule, I'm smart enough to realize that if my girlfriend and I were both working professionals and had no responsibilities we could have it all: Condo in the city, eating out all weekend, summer home by the lake, timeshare in Mexico. My girlfriend and her pesky ovaries always get in the way of my Posner-esque thinking, however.

Yesterday, I was trying to relate to her how Meg Ryan in Nora Ephron's films is the apotheosis of every woman's struggle with "Just the 10 of Us" maternal instincts and "Sex and the City" independence. This spun out of control as I debated the Yin and Yang of modern day womanhood through the prisms of "Everyone Loves Raymond" and "The King of Queens."

At the end of my rant, I finished by saying, "See! We couldn't have this conversaion if there was some kid here. He wouldn't have a clue what I was talking about. Who wants to drag some ignoramus around?"

To which my girlfriend replied, "Well, as far as I'm concerned, you just had a conversation with yourself. So, what do you care if extra people are running around while you give speeches?"

Saturday, May 07, 2005

Exam Dress Follow Up

A few days ago, I made a post about Exam Dress. In the comments, a few people insinuated that dressing up is a good way to 'psyche out' their fellow exam takers. I'm not sure if this actually works, but if somebody does get 'psyched out' due to your sharp dress, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have to worry about that person getting a better grade than you anyway.

My favorite comment was from a female law student, who said that she once wore "a little black cocktail dress and four-inch stillettos" to an exam, because "people will think you have your shit together". If some girl showed up to an exam wearing a little black coctail dress and four-inch stillettos, I wouldn't think she has her shit together. I would think she's a slut.

Friday, May 06, 2005

Tabs

Have you ever noticed how some people go way overboard when it comes to tabbing the statutory supplement they are allowed to bring to the exam? I'm talking about the person who not only has the side of the book completely filled with tabs, but the top and bottom as well. This sort of tabbing is a labor of love, as each section is color-coded both by type of statute and also by importance of the statute. This person must have spent hours doing it, and then must spend several hours more just studying the tabs so they can find things quickly and efficiently. After all, it isn't as if these supplements come with a table of contents to tell you where individual sections are...

The tragic part is that after the exam, this carefully tabbed supplement will be thrown onto some shelf, never to be opened again. Future civilizations may find this tabbed supplements and praise the organizing genius of the ancient "Case Western Reservians." The rest of us will just remember you as the guy who spilled iced tea all over his lap on the first day of orientation.

People You Meet During Exams # 3: Smugman

It's no surprise that egos abound at law school. However, after a semester of one-upmanship and socratic questioning, every broad-shouldered, bright-eyed Biff Loman shrivels down to his disappointed, self-doubting father, Willy.

One law student, however, manages to "suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" with ease. That law student is Smugman (pronounced briskly as Smug-Mun.)

Smugman saunters through the halls with his chin up and his chest out, never obsessing about minute points of law or his standing amongst his peers. His self-confidence is a carnival mirror for further excaberating the anxiety of his peers.

While I cheer the fact that there is at least one emotionally well balanced person in law school, I can't help wonder if he was always this way.

Smugman at Age 2: Don't get too used to all that wiping, Mom. I plan on being consistent with the potty within a month.

Smugman at Age 6: Let's not waste your valuable time, Nurse Weathers. I can read the bottom line of this optometry test. K, 5, E, M, P.

Smugman at Age 13: Realistically, this Bar Mitzvah is just a formality. When I walked through the doors of this temple, I was already a man.

Smugman at Age 16: Parallel parking? Hell, I could even do it perpendicularly if it was allowed.

Smugman at Age 18: Be Gentle? Don't worry, my dear. After all, I didn't bring this "French Tickler" as a gag.

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Last Minute Studying

This is my fourth go-round with law school exams, and one group of people that never fails to amuse me are the last minute studiers. These are the people who continue to study in the exam room right up until the exam starts. When I was in high school, I was cramming at the last second before an English test when my teacher told me that if I don't know it by now, I'm not going to learn it in ten minutes. When I told her I was just reviewing what I already knew, she told me that if I knew it, I didn't need to review. I realized that she was absolutely right. Since then, I rarely even bring my study materials to an exam. However, most law students didn't have the fortune of having Mrs. Watson for 11th grade English.

The least annoying type of last minute studier is the person who quietly leafs through their outline, just glancing at pages, not really reading anything in depth. This person doesn't bother me at all, because I think that they aren't so much studying as they are passing the time before the exam starts.

The person, or persons who bother me are those who loudly quiz each other on some aspect of the upcoming exam. This scenario is all too common:

Guy #1: "Do you know the majority and minority tests for piercing the corportate veil?"

Guy #2 (who is sitting across the room): "I sure do. The majority test is....."

No matter what Guy #2 says, right or wrong, his answer will inevitably confuse somebody else in the room. After his answer, there will be a mad rush of people frantically turning pages in their outline or shuffling through their flashcards to verify his answer.

But for the most part, I can't fault people for last minute studying. Maybe they are nervous, maybe they aren't confident, or maybe just passing the time. The only thing that confounds me is when people are frantically studying at the last minute - before an open book exam.

The Hustler

I wonder if there's a disgraced law review editor who travels from bar to bar across the nation.

Disgraced Law Review Editor: "I got a hundred dollars here that says I can out-appellate-brief any man in this bar"

Drunk Lawyer: "I'll take that bet!"

(Disgraced Law Review Editor starts off slow, citing the wrong jurisdictions, so as not to arouse any suspicion, but finishes strong with direct Supreme Court authority)

Sooner or later, though, the Disgraced Law Review Editor will write a check his appellate argument ability cannot cash in.

Portly Gentleman: "Thought you could hustle me, huh? I don't think you expected me to define the new sentencing guidelines after United States vs. Booker. Now pay up!"

Disgraced Law Review Editor: "Who?...Who are you?"

Portly Gentlemen: "They call me University of Minnesota Fats."

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Procrastination

There are many ways to procrastinate: Snood, Drinking Alone, “Treating yourself” to Arrested Developments 1st season on DVD. There is, however, one way that becomes more and more compelling as exams wear on: Imagining scenarios of your future life where you are not a lawyer.

Here’s my day went while studying.

9:15 AM: It’s May and it’s still cold outside. I wonder what the temperature is in Maui?

10:00 AM: I wonder if there are any law jobs in Maui? There must be. There’s been like 5 hour long dramas about private eyes in Hawaii.

11:00 AM: I’ve just spent the past hour imagining myself as Magnum P.I. Oh no. I just looked at Maui house prices. How am I going to afford that?

1:00 PM: Maui! What was I thinking? Mexico! That’s where it’s at. All of the sunshine and none of the cost.

1:30 PM: Wait a minute. I don’t speak Spanish. Well if I learned what “res ipsa loquitor” means how hard could “Donde esta la bano” be?

2:30 PM: Uh oh. I’ve just spent an hour going over the Spanish conjugation I learned in high school. Think positive! I’ve just invested an hour in learning my future language. After all, there'll be no need for the law down Mexico way. It’ll be good to be rid of all the pretension up here, or as they say down there, “We don’t need no stinking badges.”

2:45 PM: Trip to Taco Bell. I roll my “R” when ordering a Nacho Grrrande.

3:30 PM: Check my fantasy baseball league. I’m offered a trade: I give up Rafael Furcal in exchange for Sean Casey and Brett Myers. I better do some extensive research here.

4:15 PM: I now know that Sean Casey has hit .600 this season with runners in scoring position and two outs. Brett Myers has a strikeout-to-walk ratio of 34/9. Furcal is just sitting on my bench. I’m going to accept this trade.

4:45 PM: I wonder if I could be the GM of a baseball team. I should read Moneyball again.

5:00 PM: Time for a study break

5:03 PM: I just saw a commercial for the new Brownie Batter Blizzard from Dairy Queen.

5:04 PM: I’m on my way to Dairy Queen.

5:30 PM: That was a damn good Blizzard. Back to work.

5:55 PM: Why is Jimmy Fallon popular?

6:00 PM: That Blizzard is making me sleepy. I better go lie down on the couch.

9:00 PM: Wake up just in time to watch all the shows I TiVo’d that day.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Exam Dress

During exam time, personal attire changes greatly from the regular semester. During my exam the other day, I noticed four interesting people that caught my eye.

First was the girl who forsakes any sort of style for comfort. During the semsester, she is always presentable but not overdressed, always fashionable but not trendy. Come exam time, she operates under the assumption that her grade will be inversely proportional to her level of dress. She was wearing bunny slippers, scrubs from her 1998 sorority formal and a long-sleeve t-shirt that she had clearly stolen from some guy. She wore no makeup and her hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. She still probably was dressed better than most of the guys in there. All this time, I thought women were fundamentally a better looking sex than men. Turns out they just put more effort into it.

The next person that I noticed was the guy who clearly forgot to do laundry in preperation for exams. After he had gone through his nice clothes and then his out of season clothes, all that were left were his really old clothes. His style could best be described as "salute to 10th grade". This guy has on a pair of basketball shorts that are a little too short, and a t-shirt that is a little too tight. It is completely possible that he decided to wear his high school gym clothes to the exam and look over his outline one more time instead of doing a quick wash.

The next guy who drew my attention away from my exam was one of those guys who always dresses up for class. What caught my attention was that he was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and jeans instead of his usual charcoal slacks and blue dress shirt. It was really surreal, sort of like when you were a kid and you ran into your teacher at the grocery store.

However, there was one guy who dressed up for the exam. I literally thought about this guy for five minutes before I snapped back to the question I was on. The exam was at 9am on Saturday morning. It was to last four hours. And he had on freshly pressed dress pants and a crisp collared shirt. I couldn't get over it. The whole time I was wondering if he had a matching stick up his ass.

Monday, May 02, 2005

People You Meet During Exams #2: The Braggart

The polar opposite of The Possum is The Braggart. Obviously, this is the person (usually a guy) who has the unyielding desire to inform everybody of his extensive exam preperations. The Braggart is painfully ignorant of any sort of efficiency theory, choosing to substitute quantity over quality when it comes to studying. Nothing vexes the Braggart more than those who choose to spend even one waking moment during exam time on anything other than studying. Unless, of course, they are bragging.

One of the most entertaining interactions you can witness is the meeting of two Braggarts on the way to the library restroom or in the computer lab. Similar to a meeting between two Bull Moose, they will figuratively butt heads in a struggle for bragging supremicy.

Braggart A: "I'm exhausted, I've been here for eight hours."

Braggart B: "Really? I've been here for ten and I'm just getting started."

Braggart A: "Well, I just finished my Tax outline. It's 60 pages long."

Braggart B: "60? Is that all? Mine is 75, and I finished a week ago. But I'm sure you'll still pass."

Braggart B has won. He is the new Alpha of the bragging nerds. Braggart A must retreat back to his cubicle to see if he can lengthen that tax outline at all.

The Braggart seethes when he finds out that someone is doing well in law school by merely using their notes and a commercial outline. "Judas," he mutters to himself as he pulls himself onto his cross of self sacrifice. Hey, Braggart, its a simple cost/benefit analysis (and don't forget who got the 30 pieces of silver at the end of the day).

Sunday, May 01, 2005

Personal Injury

Last week I told you about my ill-fated interview with a personal injury firm. (Interviewing Fun). Although my faux pas didn't help, my ultimate undoing came earlier in the interview, when I insinuated that I didn't want to be a personal injury lawyer.

The hiring partner asked me, outright, if I wanted to be a personal injury attorney. This is a much tougher question to answer than you think. Does anyone want to be a personal injury attorney? Why would you want to be the sleaziest member of the profession? Do some kids want to grow up wanting to be chiropractors or internal affairs policemen? Did anyone grow up dreaming of having their picture on the back of the phonebook?

Maybe I just should have lied and said it was my dream to be a personal injury attorney. But then there's a catch-22: If I was that good of a liar, I probably would want to be a personal injury attorney.



Russ's Addendum: My advanced torts teacher brought in an old student of hers. The guy is 27 and just got a 38 million dollar settlement for a series of personal injury cases that arose out of one incident. After hearing that, look for me on your next phonebook.