You Know Who You Are

All right, all right, you snide bastard. "Maybe the best way to get in touch with you is to leave a comment...on your blog." Smartass.

How often did you talk to people who weren't within ten feet of you during college? I can tell you, because I was within ten feet of you for most of college. VERY FEW. And do you know why? Because you were BUSY. And when you weren't BUSY, you were TIRED. And when you weren't BUSY or TIRED, you were ASLEEP. And when you weren't BUSY, TIRED, or ASLEEP, you were DRUNK.

So sue me for not keeping in better touch! I'm not dead yet. That's all you need to know until finals are over.

(I attach a picture in tribute to my undying yet sarcastic affection for you.)

On procrastination

The other afternoon, I cleaned out our refrigerator. I also emptied and loaded the dishwasher and scrubbed my bathtub. I didn't clean my room because our washer is broken and most of the contents of the closet that was until recently spilling water out of its ceiling are strewn about my room recklessly, taking up space that neat piles of dirty clothes would otherwise occupy.

Normal people would do these things in the course of a normal day. Insofar as I am perhaps the biggest slob ever to emerge from the state of Illinois, I tend not to notice the necessity of their completion. But not that day! Oh, no. Why? Because I had outlining to do, and anything beats rereading everything I've already read for the semester and recapitulating it for the benefit of the members of my study group.

The discovery that procrastination in one area can lead to amazing productivity in other areas is both an incredibly trite statement and a fact discovered by most within a single week of beginning college, assuming high school had not provided ample opportunity for such discoveries.

But I'm procrastinating, and I couldn't think of anything more interesting to say.

Some Of These Are My Feet

That's all I've got to say about that.

Oh, classmates

Where to begin? Like every experience from the cradle to the grave, law school is rife with people I would rather I had just never met. Perhaps more so, given the fact that we will all eventually become members of the most loathed profession on Earth (after IRS auditor, pharmaceutical rep, and President).

I suppose I could adopt a Zen-like posture and view even the most annoying twit as a teacher and try to remain open to the possibilities of the experience. Plus, I always have been a cynical, socially phobic snob, so perhaps now is the time to start over with the right foot forward.

Eh, not so much. Someday I will have evolved to the point where I can deal with difficult people effortlessly, but for now it takes energy that can be better devoted to the eight billion other things I have to worry about in my life. Plus, that one guy is JUST. SO. ANNOYING. Seriously. Shut up. I don't care what you think, and you're usually wrong anyway. Nobody else is as in love with the sound of your voice as you are. We would all rather hear our own voices than yours, and you are taking up valuable time for us to show off that we read the case, too. Oh, and to that other kid? You know who you are. Yes, you are smart. Very smart. Probably much smarter than me, which is a good clue as to why I don't like you. It's a good thing you're shorter than me, because otherwise I would totally have to kick your ass.

Ooh! and to the people who whine about the workload. Guess what? Law school is hard. I know sometimes it doesn't seem like it should be, given all the incompetent boobs out there who pretend to be lawyers. Let's just wait til finals time to see if skipping the parts of the reading that you decided weren't important pays off, okay? And guess what else: that cushy $135-grand-a-year firm job you want to land when you graduate is going to be EVEN WORSE. Bet you wish you took a couple years off after undergrad now, bitches!

By the way: attention all gunners. I don't know how many A's the curve allows, but I hope you don't get any of them. They should go to people who go to school to learn, not to people who go to measure the size of their intellectual genitalia.

For the five or six people who fall into the category of people I don't want to beat to a pulp? Thank you for being there. You are awesome. You're smart. Hella wicked smart. You don't care about whether other people know it or not, because you're smart for yourself and what you want to accomplish, not to show other people you're better than they are. Keep on rockin' in the free world. Seriously.

Ode to the Weirdest Boy Ever

One incredibly soothing gem that trickled down to me prior to starting the Big L was this: law school is a relationship killer, so don't harbor any expectations that your ever-so-sweetie will stick around too long to hear you rant about whether and how res ipsa loquitur can truly be applied in comparative fault jurisdictions and the degree to which Congressional authority is effectively limited by the Tenth Amendment night and day for the next three years.

This particular tidbit kept me up nights for a good long while leading up to the big event. When I tried to address my fears with my particular snuggle bunny, he responded by rolling his eyes, telling me that worrying about something "in the future" was pointless, and sometimes by actually physically banging his head against the wall--a characteristic if incredibly aggravating response which led me to spiral deeper into tortured certainty that my partnered bliss was not long for this world, if only because I happened to be partnered with the most irritating and intentionally obtuse person on the planet.

Well, I'm putting this officially in writing as my penance for not trusting the ska-obsessed cynic I call my own. You were right, honey, and I was wrong. My paranoia was pointless. It's really all going to be okay. You weren't just making it up to get me to shut up and go to sleep. Well, okay, maybe you were, but the point is, you were right and you are wonderful.

Thanks. No, really. Thanks. This one's for you.

The Rant That Started It All

It made me feel so much better about the world to send this rant streaming out to my friends and casual acquaintances on Myspace that I decided to start myself a blog. I should've made this my first post, but oh well.

If you like pina coladas...

then DON'T GO TO EFFIN LAW SCHOOL. There are no pina coladas in law school. There is only pain! No pineapple. No rum. And there sure as hell ain't no decorative umbrella. Pure, unadulterated torture.

The next time someone tells you that an oral agreement is binding, punch them in the face. That's right, you heard me. Just open up and punch them. Nothing is binding unless there is adequate consideration. And do you know how I know that? Because twice a week I waste TWO HOURS OF MY PRECIOUS LIFE listening to some boring twit (actually, he seems very nice) drone ON and ON about the damn consideration. Sometimes it's magically there! Sometimes you think it's there, but it's not! And sometimes it's not there, but you pretend like it is! How are you supposed to tell the difference? Pop out the Ouija board and channel the spirit of effing Learned Hand, because I don't have a damn clue.

So, yeah, for those of you who have been asking, law school is going pretty well. Apart from the bit that makes me want to commit ritual suicide, and there are only 32 hours left in that class. Plus the studying plus the exam...and then?

Pina coladas for everyone!!

Why is Legal Writing so boring?

The one bit of wisdom that anyone who has successfully completed their first year of law school has consistently offered me is this: pay attention in Legal Writing, because it's the only class that actually teaches you how to be a lawyer.

Far be it from me to disagree, as obviously I have not a damn clue about how to be a lawyer. In the first month of legal writing, I've learned to fling off terms like "shepherdize" without batting an eyelash, and if I could read Braille I could parse a statute with my eyes closed. I've also spent hours running to-and-fro in the law library trying desperately to figure out what precise combination of words will lead me to the statute, case, treatise, hornbook, or other 19th century relic that I've already found online in under 15 seconds. Is that what being a lawyer is? Wasting as much time as humanly possible so that you can bill your clients for "research time," simultaneously appearing both dedicated and erudite?

People with Real World Experience In The Law tell me that all lawyers do is write, file, read, and respond to various and sundry types of legal documents. If that's true, and I have no reason to suspect a profession-wide conspiracy against either me specifically or 1Ls in general, then Legal Writing is every bit as important as they claim. But why, I must ask, can I only vaguely identify what these documents are? Why do I have no idea how said documents might be structured? You'd think that would be the first thing they would sit you down and tell you in a Legal Writing class. So far, the most I can do is piece together some vague reason why a person does or does not have a cause of action for a particular lawsuit. That's nice. Probably important, too. I've also developed a deep and unmitigated loathing for any phrase that in volves the words "blue" and book." But I'm still waiting for the answer to the big "what's next?" and I'm not seeing any indication that it's coming down the pike.

I guess I'll just figure it out as I go. That seems to be an emerging theme in this whole law school debacle.

Stumbling upon this blog, one might reasonably be given cause to wonder why, amid the chaos of the first year of law school--the late nights, the rapidly multiplying gray hairs, the complete and utter lack of a freaking clue about what the hell is going on--a reasonable and prudent person would respond by starting a blog.

Could it be the desire nascent in the heart of every born lawyer to hear the resounding boom of one's own voice thundering across the open plain of cyberspace? Possibly. Like everyone setting out to tread in the illustrious footsteps of Thurgood Marshall, Daniel Webster, and Ben Matlock, I am to a certain degree enamored of myself and am certainly highly confident in the righteousness of my opinions. Just the fact that I use the words "enamored of myself" instead of just coming out and admitting that I'm pretty sure my shit don't stink should tip you off. But generally speaking, I'm content to sound off to my friends, relatives, and people I sit next to on public transportation. That way, my listeners can observe my oratorical genius as well as my skills as a wordsmith.

Perhaps, like my fellow lettered-street travelers in our nation's capital (that's capital, not capitol, unless you're talking about the actual Capitol Building), I have a rant about the state of the city, the nation, and the entire dad-gummed world to get off my chest and I want my wisdom to reach a larger audience. Well, that's definitely true. I do have a lot to say about all of those things. I might even, from time to time, say them in my blog. But the fact that we are, in fact, already nestled snugly in a comfortable handbasket with a one-way ticket down the intention-paved highway of song and story really doesn't need another Captain Obvious to add to the chorus. Any comments of that nature are purely self-gratifying.

But why, really, am I doing this? Well, actually, it's because I find myself with quite a lot of free time these days. Procrastination is alive and well in the hallowed halls of my particular university, and I am no less a victim of its nefarious urges to do nothing when there is so much to be done than anyone else. And so...voila! Introducing le blog des moi. I don't know if that means anything, but French seemed appropriate just then. I'll opine randomly and widely about the process that will transform me from lawless layperson to Legal Eagle Extraordinaire. Or at least it better, because if it doesn't I'm out a downpayment on a beach house in Rehoboth.

Well, it beats the hell out of writing a memo.