The day that I have been working towards for the last three years is coming soon. In 25 days, I will (hopefully) be a law graduate. I will join thousands of JDs nationwide and will become a faceless autobot in a sea of suits. But I have something that sets me apart from many of my classmates and other JDs:
I will be unemployed.
I'm starting to come to terms with it, but the stress accompanying this sober reality has not abated in the slightest. I have a bridge picked out, and I acquired a refrigerator box in which to live. The only thing left to do is to create a fake identity so that Sallie Mae goes after that person, and not me.
It's unbelievable that twenty straight years of schooling are coming to an end. In 1993, I walked in to Ms. Yvonne's kindergarten classroom, a scared child wearing a multi-colored dress with a screen-printed apple on the front who was unsure of what the future held for her. Now, twenty years later, I will leave law school as a scared adult (not sure what I'll be wearing yet) who is unsure of what the future holds. I endured twenty years of schooling just to wind up back where I started.
But the twenty years have not been wasted, even though the last three may have been. But the last three years have helped shape my sarcastic, self-deprecating sense of humor. How about one last post for the blog that no one has any interest in reading? And so, as a final farewell, I have decided to write a list of some law school observations/things that I have learned:
1. Never make eye contact with gunners
For those of who you don't know, gunners are the "eager beavers" of the law school, raising their hands to answer every question and to relate personal anecdotes that no one really cares about. They are the students who will arrive early, stay after class to speak with the professor, and will inevitably ruin any chance that you had to get out of class early. You do not want to get paired up with them for a group assignment, or you will be doing far more work than the professor requires. When you locate and identify the gunner in your class, choose a seat on the opposite side, and for God's sake, don't make eye contact. If you can't locate and identify the class gunner, grab a mirror and hold it in front of your face. It's most likely you.
2. Learn how to pass an attendance sheet
It goes all the way across the row (including the aisles), and then backward or forward (depending on where your row got it from). It's not hard.
3. If you like Civ Pro, you will not like Contracts. If you like Contracts, you will not like Civ Pro
This seems to be universal. I have no explanation why.
4. Follow the Elevator Rule at all times
Refer to previous posts for an explanation of the Elevator Rule.
5. Do not sit in the seat directly next to me when there are thirty open chairs (a variation of the Elevator Rule)
This originally referred to seating during finals, but I think I want to expand it. If there are thirty open chairs when you walk into the room, do not sit in the seat directly next to me. Seriously. Don't even try it.
6. No matter whether you're a 3L or a 1L, getting called on during the first day of class sucks
No explanation needed. It just really, really sucks.
7. There is a sense of camaraderie and competition among law students
And these two feelings are fighting an eternal, epic battle for which will reign supreme. Just a heads-up: once you get to second semester 2L year, competition wins, and The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants feeling that permeated 1L year is now replaced by The Hunger Games/Thunderdome.
8. Every piece of knowledge I have retained has come from a class with a tough professor
Don't shy away from the tough professors. Those are the classes where you learn your stuff. With that being said, DO avoid the unfair professors. Like a certain Family Law professor who shall remain nameless. If you're going to take a class with her, have the dean's number on speed dial because trust me, you're going to need it.
9. Lower your expectations of success
You expected to be a straight-A student in law school? Be happy with Cs. You expected to marry your college boyfriend/girlfriend? Be happy with a tub of ice cream and Millionaire Matchmaker. You expected to get a high-powered job right out of law school? Just be happy that you put on real pants today. Or any pants, for that matter.
And last, but certainly not least, the most important thing I learned in law school is...
10. Nobody cares
You got into law school. That's great. You should be proud of yourself. You completed law school? Be even prouder. And demand that your family and close friends be proud as well. But don't post anything about your getting a job, landing an internship, making the dean's list, or generally just having a great life and expect anyone outside of the aforementioned groups to care. Because we don't. We're all battling through this hell, and the primary focus is on our own self. You're just a law-school acquaintance and something great and law-related happened to you? You can find me in Starbucks, drinking my venti bold coffee and not caring. You should absolutely celebrate your achievements, but save yourself a stamp and put my invitation in the shredder.
Cynicism doesn't even begin to describe my current state of being.
This is good-bye, my friends who must have been really, really bored to actually reach this point. This blog has been fun, and I really wish I could do this full-time. My student loans, however, dictate that I get a paying job. If only someone would pay me to be self-deprecating and cynical...
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Monday, August 27, 2012
Well, the world needs ditch diggers too.
A new law school year has started. Last Monday was my last first day of school. My last first day of college was filled with much sadness and dread; this last first day was filled with what I can only characterize as restrained jubilation. If I could have hired a mariachi band to follow me around all day and try to put my happiness into music, I would have. But I'm a law student, and Sallie Mae doesn't really offer "mariachi-shadowing" loans.
A lot of things have changed. I got a dog. We get along pretty well, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't recognize me as the dominant party in this cohabitation. I tell her, "Just because I feed you, give you water, take you out when you need to go, pick up your bowel movements off the ground, throw the ball when you bring it to me, and let you sleep in my bed doesn't mean you control me." I'm trying to teach her how to put on her harness and leash, grab the apartment keys and a plastic bag, and take herself outside. It's a slow process. The whole "lack of opposable thumbs" thing is really working against us. And the fact that she tries to go Shawshank every chance she gets.
As a 3L, I've had a lot of time to reflect on this whole law school deal. And what I've ascertained is that you are not attending a 3-year institution. You are attending a three one-year programs that just happen to occur in the same building. The years of law school are so different that it's incredible that they're completed in the same structure. In true "me" style, I have come up with the three themes of law school, complete with movie comparisons.
1L Year
Theme: Survival
Movie: Cast Away
You have one mission and one mission alone your 1L year: survive. Time becomes meaningless, meals become optional, and sleep becomes a luxury. If you can make it from August to May without (a) going insane, or (b) dropping out (which there is absolutely no shame in), then congratulations. You've just committed yourself to two more years of this wonderful journey we call law school.
One way to get through 1L year: find something that keeps you sane. Build a raft. Pull out your own tooth. Choose one unopened box from your apartment and don't open it. Put a bloody handprint on a sports ball and talk to it. I'm not here to judge.
2L Year
Theme: Improvement
Movie: The Karate Kid
Your 2L year is all about getting involved, raising your GPA, and building your résumé. This is the critical year. You've come this far that you can't justify quitting, but you've still got so far to go. You become the middle child of the law school, sometimes an afterthought. School becomes your number one priority.
One way to get through 2L year: Work on self-improvement. Walk around humming "You're the Best" and trying to sweep the legs of other law students. Refer to everyone as "sensei." Wear patterned headbands. Wax a bunch of cars in the hope that the skills learned will come in handy when you type an essay exam for three hours.
3L Year
Theme: Disaster Preparation
Movie: Caddyshack
Your 3L year is the year that involves the least concern with school. Don't get me wrong, I'm still worried about grades and doing well, but school has definitely fallen out of the top spot on my priorities list. Priority #1: Find a job. Priority #2: Pass the bar so that you may keep the job you found. Priority #3: Pick out a nice spot under a bridge in the event you wind up homeless and jobless. Priority #4: Make sure Sallie Mae has an imaginary forwarding address. Priority #5: School. 3Ls have much bigger things on their minds, most of which lie outside the walls of the law school.
One way to get through 3L year: Raise the price of the Coke machines in the law school. Blare "Any Way You Want It" and dance through the hallways. Keep telling everyone, "I gotta get a job" in a Danny Noonan-esque voice. For the 3Ls that have jobs, remind the jobless that the world needs ditch diggers too. As the year progresses, stick your lip out more and more prominently when you speak. If you want to end the year with something that involves a lot of dynamite and a small woodland creature, go ahead. But a word of advice: Your dynamite/rodent finale shouldn't involve the school in any way. At least not until you have your diploma.
Whatever happens, at least I'll get a law degree. So I got that going for me.
Which is nice.
A lot of things have changed. I got a dog. We get along pretty well, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't recognize me as the dominant party in this cohabitation. I tell her, "Just because I feed you, give you water, take you out when you need to go, pick up your bowel movements off the ground, throw the ball when you bring it to me, and let you sleep in my bed doesn't mean you control me." I'm trying to teach her how to put on her harness and leash, grab the apartment keys and a plastic bag, and take herself outside. It's a slow process. The whole "lack of opposable thumbs" thing is really working against us. And the fact that she tries to go Shawshank every chance she gets.
As a 3L, I've had a lot of time to reflect on this whole law school deal. And what I've ascertained is that you are not attending a 3-year institution. You are attending a three one-year programs that just happen to occur in the same building. The years of law school are so different that it's incredible that they're completed in the same structure. In true "me" style, I have come up with the three themes of law school, complete with movie comparisons.
1L Year
Theme: Survival
Movie: Cast Away
You have one mission and one mission alone your 1L year: survive. Time becomes meaningless, meals become optional, and sleep becomes a luxury. If you can make it from August to May without (a) going insane, or (b) dropping out (which there is absolutely no shame in), then congratulations. You've just committed yourself to two more years of this wonderful journey we call law school.
One way to get through 1L year: find something that keeps you sane. Build a raft. Pull out your own tooth. Choose one unopened box from your apartment and don't open it. Put a bloody handprint on a sports ball and talk to it. I'm not here to judge.
2L Year
Theme: Improvement
Movie: The Karate Kid
Your 2L year is all about getting involved, raising your GPA, and building your résumé. This is the critical year. You've come this far that you can't justify quitting, but you've still got so far to go. You become the middle child of the law school, sometimes an afterthought. School becomes your number one priority.
One way to get through 2L year: Work on self-improvement. Walk around humming "You're the Best" and trying to sweep the legs of other law students. Refer to everyone as "sensei." Wear patterned headbands. Wax a bunch of cars in the hope that the skills learned will come in handy when you type an essay exam for three hours.
3L Year
Theme: Disaster Preparation
Movie: Caddyshack
Your 3L year is the year that involves the least concern with school. Don't get me wrong, I'm still worried about grades and doing well, but school has definitely fallen out of the top spot on my priorities list. Priority #1: Find a job. Priority #2: Pass the bar so that you may keep the job you found. Priority #3: Pick out a nice spot under a bridge in the event you wind up homeless and jobless. Priority #4: Make sure Sallie Mae has an imaginary forwarding address. Priority #5: School. 3Ls have much bigger things on their minds, most of which lie outside the walls of the law school.
One way to get through 3L year: Raise the price of the Coke machines in the law school. Blare "Any Way You Want It" and dance through the hallways. Keep telling everyone, "I gotta get a job" in a Danny Noonan-esque voice. For the 3Ls that have jobs, remind the jobless that the world needs ditch diggers too. As the year progresses, stick your lip out more and more prominently when you speak. If you want to end the year with something that involves a lot of dynamite and a small woodland creature, go ahead. But a word of advice: Your dynamite/rodent finale shouldn't involve the school in any way. At least not until you have your diploma.
Whatever happens, at least I'll get a law degree. So I got that going for me.
Which is nice.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Oh, Eddie. If I woke up tomorrow with my head sewn to the carpet, I wouldn't be more surprised than I am now.
Well, it's that time of year again, kids. The time of year that separates the law school adults from the kids, but inevitably leaves us all curled up and crying on the floor in the fetal position at the end of it. That's right, I'm talking about finals.
There's really nothing to be said about finals that I haven't already said before, so I thought I would take a different approach this time. Many of you know that I quote movies constantly, given the fact that the almost every title of every post is a movie quote (including this one). In honor of my unoriginality, I have compiled a list of the ten things I would rather do instead of take law school finals.
1) I would rather volunteer as tribute in The Hunger Games than take finals. Tracker jackers and muttations aside, I'm pretty scrappy. And at least there's a chance of surviving The Hunger Games. I'm pretty sure my pulse has flat-lined during every final I've taken in law school.
2) I would rather compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament than take finals. Scratch that...I would rather face a fire-breathing dragon with no wand or broomstick.
3) I would rather be in Brick Top's pocket than take finals. Death by pig has to be far less painful than a 52-page, 94-question Evidence final that has to be completed in two and half hours, right?
4) I would rather face Tyler Durden in a fight club than take finals. It doesn't even matter which Tyler Durden I face. Heck, I'd face Meatloaf/Bob.
5) I would rather drive from Rhode Island to Aspen on a scooter with only june bugs to eat than take finals. It might get a little nippy going through the pass, but that's ok.
6) I would rather steal from Keyser Soze than take finals. I feel like Kevin Spacey is a cool dude. We could talk it out.
7) I would rather dig out of Chateau d'If than take finals. The priest is there, so at least I'd have company...until he gets crushed by rocks. **SPOILER ALERT**
8) I would rather be travel cross-country with Del Griffith than take finals. We could rock out to "Mess Around" together before the car was destroyed.
9) I would rather face El Guapo and his men than take finals. Maybe then I could explain to them what "plethora" means.
And last, but not least,
10) I would rather be stranded on a desert island with only a volleyball for company than take finals. But unlike Tom Hanks, I would swim after Wilson and rescue him.
This is by no means an exhaustive list. I could probably come up with a hundred things I would rather do than take finals, but my Evidence outline beckons.
And people tried to tell me Evidence couldn't be outlined in less than four days...
There's really nothing to be said about finals that I haven't already said before, so I thought I would take a different approach this time. Many of you know that I quote movies constantly, given the fact that the almost every title of every post is a movie quote (including this one). In honor of my unoriginality, I have compiled a list of the ten things I would rather do instead of take law school finals.
1) I would rather volunteer as tribute in The Hunger Games than take finals. Tracker jackers and muttations aside, I'm pretty scrappy. And at least there's a chance of surviving The Hunger Games. I'm pretty sure my pulse has flat-lined during every final I've taken in law school.
2) I would rather compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament than take finals. Scratch that...I would rather face a fire-breathing dragon with no wand or broomstick.
3) I would rather be in Brick Top's pocket than take finals. Death by pig has to be far less painful than a 52-page, 94-question Evidence final that has to be completed in two and half hours, right?
4) I would rather face Tyler Durden in a fight club than take finals. It doesn't even matter which Tyler Durden I face. Heck, I'd face Meatloaf/Bob.
5) I would rather drive from Rhode Island to Aspen on a scooter with only june bugs to eat than take finals. It might get a little nippy going through the pass, but that's ok.
6) I would rather steal from Keyser Soze than take finals. I feel like Kevin Spacey is a cool dude. We could talk it out.
7) I would rather dig out of Chateau d'If than take finals. The priest is there, so at least I'd have company...until he gets crushed by rocks. **SPOILER ALERT**
8) I would rather be travel cross-country with Del Griffith than take finals. We could rock out to "Mess Around" together before the car was destroyed.
9) I would rather face El Guapo and his men than take finals. Maybe then I could explain to them what "plethora" means.
And last, but not least,
10) I would rather be stranded on a desert island with only a volleyball for company than take finals. But unlike Tom Hanks, I would swim after Wilson and rescue him.
This is by no means an exhaustive list. I could probably come up with a hundred things I would rather do than take finals, but my Evidence outline beckons.
And people tried to tell me Evidence couldn't be outlined in less than four days...
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Welcome to Thunderdome.
If there is one thing you can glean from this blog, it's this: law school is rough. It's three years of constant stress, a continuing feeling of stupidity, and crippling fear that results when you realize how much money you're actually spending and that the next decade or more of paychecks is getting sent straight to Sallie Mae. Some people dislike it; some people hate it. There are some that love it, but I just choose to put them in the "delusional" category of law students.With all this stress that's palpable as soon as you walk through the door, you would think that whenever the powers-at-be in law school have the chance, they would want to make things as simple and relaxing as possible. I laugh at this naive thought. Classes are stressful, and then you get to finals, which hit about a 10 on the Richter scale of stressful-ness. But in the middle of the semester, there comes an event that to an outsider seems completely innocuous. But to law students, we know that this one event is enough to make you want to pull your hair out and slap people. That one event? Class scheduling.
Law students spend hours picking out the perfect schedule, taking into account such variables as school requirements, bar courses, externships, areas of interest, and the desire to have at least one day off a week. Then the time to register for classes arrives, and all of the hours of planning go right out the window. For those of you who have seen The Hunger Games, it's comparable to the moment when all of the tributes are standing on their platforms, waiting for the gong to sound so they can begin to fight for their lives. Although we're not fighting for our lives, we're fighting for our law degree. For a law student, there's not much difference between the two.
Registering for classes at my old school was a nightmare. As rising 1Ls, we were required to take Evidence during 2L year. There were about 180-190 students needing to register for that class. There were 162 spots available. I'm no math whiz, but something there doesn't add up. The registration process first year was also terrible because I had to register at 4:30 p.m. Registration started at 7:30 a.m, then 9:30 a.m., then 12:30 p.m., then 2:30 p.m. I had to sit and watch as spots in my desired classes slowly ticked away. In the library, I was making no effort to be quiet as I unleashed a flurry of obscenities.
This year proved to be no different. Because not all of my credits transferred, I was forced to register with the 1Ls. I sat on a bench outside the computer lab with a 1L next to me who kept cheering in jubilation over getting his desired schedule. Although I got the days I wanted, I didn't get the desired classes. This kid was about to get a 2L schooling from me. One look from me shut him up and elicited an apology from his lips. That's right, kid. Don't be cheering around me when I'm a year ahead of you, and you're getting into the classes I want.
So there you have it. A process that could be made simple and relaxing, offering some sort of respite for overworked, sleep-deprived law students is instead an every-man-for-himself war zone. If you trip and fall, I will come back later to help you up...after I've completed my scheduling. There are no friends when it comes to registering for law school classes. There are only enemies vying for an ever-decreasing number of spots in the classes that will lead us to freedom.
To all my fellow victims/law students who are preparing to register for next semester:
May the odds be ever in your favor. And welcome to Thunderdome.
Law students spend hours picking out the perfect schedule, taking into account such variables as school requirements, bar courses, externships, areas of interest, and the desire to have at least one day off a week. Then the time to register for classes arrives, and all of the hours of planning go right out the window. For those of you who have seen The Hunger Games, it's comparable to the moment when all of the tributes are standing on their platforms, waiting for the gong to sound so they can begin to fight for their lives. Although we're not fighting for our lives, we're fighting for our law degree. For a law student, there's not much difference between the two.
Registering for classes at my old school was a nightmare. As rising 1Ls, we were required to take Evidence during 2L year. There were about 180-190 students needing to register for that class. There were 162 spots available. I'm no math whiz, but something there doesn't add up. The registration process first year was also terrible because I had to register at 4:30 p.m. Registration started at 7:30 a.m, then 9:30 a.m., then 12:30 p.m., then 2:30 p.m. I had to sit and watch as spots in my desired classes slowly ticked away. In the library, I was making no effort to be quiet as I unleashed a flurry of obscenities.
This year proved to be no different. Because not all of my credits transferred, I was forced to register with the 1Ls. I sat on a bench outside the computer lab with a 1L next to me who kept cheering in jubilation over getting his desired schedule. Although I got the days I wanted, I didn't get the desired classes. This kid was about to get a 2L schooling from me. One look from me shut him up and elicited an apology from his lips. That's right, kid. Don't be cheering around me when I'm a year ahead of you, and you're getting into the classes I want.
So there you have it. A process that could be made simple and relaxing, offering some sort of respite for overworked, sleep-deprived law students is instead an every-man-for-himself war zone. If you trip and fall, I will come back later to help you up...after I've completed my scheduling. There are no friends when it comes to registering for law school classes. There are only enemies vying for an ever-decreasing number of spots in the classes that will lead us to freedom.
To all my fellow victims/law students who are preparing to register for next semester:
May the odds be ever in your favor. And welcome to Thunderdome.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.
Eesh, I'm pretty terrible at this blog thing. For those of you who aren't law students, the length of time between postings indicates how exciting the events at law school are. The more exciting the events, the more postings. My last posting was in December...reach your own conclusions.
I started this blog in order to have some sort of relief from the real-world hell that is law school. But looking back, I realize it's become more of a law school etiquette blog. So, in keeping with that theme, here's another pet peeve of mine.
Let me paint you a picture:
Class begins at 12:45 and lasts until 2:10. The professor is very knowledgeable and likes to share anecdotes, so the class NEVER lets out early. Then one magical day, at 1:45 p.m., the professor looks at the class and says the words every law student wants to hear: "Well, that's all I have for today." Collective internal cheering passes through the crowd, and students begin to pack up their backpacks. And then, he asks the dreaded four words: "Are there any questions?" I whisper a silent prayer to myself, begging God to not let there be any questions, all the while shooting dirty looks at any person with an inquisitive look on his/her face. "Don't do it...don't you dare do it." And then there it is: a hand in the air. Dreams are crushed; there is quiet sobbing. So close, yet so far.
Law classes are full of questions, and rightfully so. These are difficult concepts we're struggling with. Any other day of the week, I will fight (figuratively, as I know the consequences for battery) for someone's right to ask a question during class. I actually prefer people to ask questions because that is less time that I might be forced to talk. There is one big exception, though. When a professor is going to let you out of class early, please refrain from asking questions. Please especially refrain when this professor never ends class early. You can always hang around after and ask (you know the professor is free until the scheduled end of class), or you can e-mail the professor. In addition to not asking questions, please do not offer general opinions on matters. If you're not a Supreme Court justice and the professor hasn't specifically asked you what your opinion is, odds are that I don't care what you think. Actually, scratch the Supreme Court justice requirement.
During the time limits of class, feel free to express your opinion or ask questions. Although I may not care, that is absolutely your right and your opportunity to express yourself. But be warned: if your opinion over the matters of the class or your questions which could easily be asked later prevent me from getting that rare and glorious reprieve, I will be forced to give you the dirtiest looks I can muster and be annoyed with you until the end of time.
I started this blog in order to have some sort of relief from the real-world hell that is law school. But looking back, I realize it's become more of a law school etiquette blog. So, in keeping with that theme, here's another pet peeve of mine.
Let me paint you a picture:
Class begins at 12:45 and lasts until 2:10. The professor is very knowledgeable and likes to share anecdotes, so the class NEVER lets out early. Then one magical day, at 1:45 p.m., the professor looks at the class and says the words every law student wants to hear: "Well, that's all I have for today." Collective internal cheering passes through the crowd, and students begin to pack up their backpacks. And then, he asks the dreaded four words: "Are there any questions?" I whisper a silent prayer to myself, begging God to not let there be any questions, all the while shooting dirty looks at any person with an inquisitive look on his/her face. "Don't do it...don't you dare do it." And then there it is: a hand in the air. Dreams are crushed; there is quiet sobbing. So close, yet so far.
Law classes are full of questions, and rightfully so. These are difficult concepts we're struggling with. Any other day of the week, I will fight (figuratively, as I know the consequences for battery) for someone's right to ask a question during class. I actually prefer people to ask questions because that is less time that I might be forced to talk. There is one big exception, though. When a professor is going to let you out of class early, please refrain from asking questions. Please especially refrain when this professor never ends class early. You can always hang around after and ask (you know the professor is free until the scheduled end of class), or you can e-mail the professor. In addition to not asking questions, please do not offer general opinions on matters. If you're not a Supreme Court justice and the professor hasn't specifically asked you what your opinion is, odds are that I don't care what you think. Actually, scratch the Supreme Court justice requirement.
During the time limits of class, feel free to express your opinion or ask questions. Although I may not care, that is absolutely your right and your opportunity to express yourself. But be warned: if your opinion over the matters of the class or your questions which could easily be asked later prevent me from getting that rare and glorious reprieve, I will be forced to give you the dirtiest looks I can muster and be annoyed with you until the end of time.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
"Welcome to Indiana basketball."-Coach Norman Dale
**WARNING: This post has absolutely nothing to do with law school and absolutely everything to do with IU and their win over UK last night.**
I started at IU in August 2006. That was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's first year (I haven't said his name in three years, and I am not about to start now). I was against hiring him in the first place, my sole reason being, "If he did it at Oklahoma, he's going to do it here." Turns out I was right. I watched He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named put two very good teams on the court. And I would be lying if I said I didn't cheer them on, because I did. I had season basketball tickets all four years, and I worked in the athletic department sophomore year until I graduated. I cheered and was happy when they won, but I never really liked them (except for DJ White, Kyle Taber, and Lance Stemler). I didn't like them because they walked around like we owed them something, like we should be happy they deigned to put on the IU jersey. That's not how I was raised. I was raised on three things: Seinfeld, Catholicism, and IU basketball. I was taught the IU jersey didn't earn you, YOU earned the IU jersey. And I never felt that the 2006-2007 and 2007-2008 teams got that concept. I found out how right I was when the players wrote You Know Who's name on their shoes after he resigned. That to me showed that they never cared about IU. They were just in it for themselves.
I watched You Know Who take my beloved school and basketball program to the brink of complete and total ruin, and I watched Dan Dakich bring us back from the crumbling edge. While the school was in the process of hiring a new coach, I heard every name under the sun. I had people who swore to me that Coach K was coming to IU, and I chose to laugh rather than dignify that ridiculous assertion with a response. I never heard Tom Crean's name. When he was hired, the first reaction was shock. Shock because his name had never been mentioned. The following reaction was, "Yeah, that makes perfect sense. Why didn't I hear his name? It fits so well."
Crean's first season was rough. If I remember correctly, the team won six games the whole season. But here's the truth: I loved that team a thousand times more than I ever loved the 2006-2007 and 2007-2008 teams. The 2008-2009 team was IU. They walked into almost every game knowing they were beaten before the ball was even tipped, yet they gave everything they had during every single game. They were trying to earn the jersey and earn the respect of the IU fanbase. They endured boos, insults, and fans exiting the IU wagon by the hordes, and they still kept fighting. At my job, I had to listen to season ticket holders of 30+ years tell me that they weren't renewing their tickets. And I had to keep repeating the one thing I held onto, "Just believe. Have faith. And be patient. Believe that we will be great again, have faith that Crean is the man who's going to get us there, and have patience because it's going to take awhile." I convinced few to none to keep their tickets. But there were still true fans out there. I remember my boss telling me he was at Yogi's for IU's final game in 2009, and everyone there was cheering like crazy, trying to will the team to win. He said an outsider would have seen the enthusiasm and thought they were cheering for a national championship. They were cheering for win number seven. I was one of those fans. I have realized now that the "fans" hurling the insults and the boos were not fans at all. They just equated IU basketball with winning...and it's so much more than that.
It's great to see that my mantra of "Believe, have faith, and be patient" is finally paying off. The win last night was indescribable. I keep tearing up seeing the shot, the ensuing court rush, and the celebration on Kirkwood. I would have given anything to be there. IU deserved this win. I've heard people say they didn't, and I can't begin to tell you how wrong they are. With everything these players and this program has endured the last three seasons, this win was more than deserved. I wouldn't trade a second of the last three seasons, because if I did, this win wouldn't feel as amazing as it does now. I've always said that we were building towards something great, something that was going to be so amazing that when it happened, there would be no words. There would only be tears and lots of joyous screaming. That something was the win last night.
Look out, baby. IU's back.
HOO-HOO-HOO-HOOSIERS!
I started at IU in August 2006. That was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's first year (I haven't said his name in three years, and I am not about to start now). I was against hiring him in the first place, my sole reason being, "If he did it at Oklahoma, he's going to do it here." Turns out I was right. I watched He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named put two very good teams on the court. And I would be lying if I said I didn't cheer them on, because I did. I had season basketball tickets all four years, and I worked in the athletic department sophomore year until I graduated. I cheered and was happy when they won, but I never really liked them (except for DJ White, Kyle Taber, and Lance Stemler). I didn't like them because they walked around like we owed them something, like we should be happy they deigned to put on the IU jersey. That's not how I was raised. I was raised on three things: Seinfeld, Catholicism, and IU basketball. I was taught the IU jersey didn't earn you, YOU earned the IU jersey. And I never felt that the 2006-2007 and 2007-2008 teams got that concept. I found out how right I was when the players wrote You Know Who's name on their shoes after he resigned. That to me showed that they never cared about IU. They were just in it for themselves.
I watched You Know Who take my beloved school and basketball program to the brink of complete and total ruin, and I watched Dan Dakich bring us back from the crumbling edge. While the school was in the process of hiring a new coach, I heard every name under the sun. I had people who swore to me that Coach K was coming to IU, and I chose to laugh rather than dignify that ridiculous assertion with a response. I never heard Tom Crean's name. When he was hired, the first reaction was shock. Shock because his name had never been mentioned. The following reaction was, "Yeah, that makes perfect sense. Why didn't I hear his name? It fits so well."
Crean's first season was rough. If I remember correctly, the team won six games the whole season. But here's the truth: I loved that team a thousand times more than I ever loved the 2006-2007 and 2007-2008 teams. The 2008-2009 team was IU. They walked into almost every game knowing they were beaten before the ball was even tipped, yet they gave everything they had during every single game. They were trying to earn the jersey and earn the respect of the IU fanbase. They endured boos, insults, and fans exiting the IU wagon by the hordes, and they still kept fighting. At my job, I had to listen to season ticket holders of 30+ years tell me that they weren't renewing their tickets. And I had to keep repeating the one thing I held onto, "Just believe. Have faith. And be patient. Believe that we will be great again, have faith that Crean is the man who's going to get us there, and have patience because it's going to take awhile." I convinced few to none to keep their tickets. But there were still true fans out there. I remember my boss telling me he was at Yogi's for IU's final game in 2009, and everyone there was cheering like crazy, trying to will the team to win. He said an outsider would have seen the enthusiasm and thought they were cheering for a national championship. They were cheering for win number seven. I was one of those fans. I have realized now that the "fans" hurling the insults and the boos were not fans at all. They just equated IU basketball with winning...and it's so much more than that.
It's great to see that my mantra of "Believe, have faith, and be patient" is finally paying off. The win last night was indescribable. I keep tearing up seeing the shot, the ensuing court rush, and the celebration on Kirkwood. I would have given anything to be there. IU deserved this win. I've heard people say they didn't, and I can't begin to tell you how wrong they are. With everything these players and this program has endured the last three seasons, this win was more than deserved. I wouldn't trade a second of the last three seasons, because if I did, this win wouldn't feel as amazing as it does now. I've always said that we were building towards something great, something that was going to be so amazing that when it happened, there would be no words. There would only be tears and lots of joyous screaming. That something was the win last night.
Look out, baby. IU's back.
HOO-HOO-HOO-HOOSIERS!
Monday, November 7, 2011
Bueller...Bueller...Bueller.
**WARNING: Someone had a "Case of the Mondays" when she wrote this.**
As many of you know, my computer crashed two weeks ago. It had been teetering on the precipice of complete and total failure for about three months, but two weeks ago, it decided enough was enough. And I can't blame my HP. It was a good computer. I received it as a high school graduation gift, so its run of five and a half years is admirable for a PC. So, like I said, I can't blame it for crashing...it was just really *bleeping* inconvenient.
For the four weeks leading up to my computer crashing, I had been using my computer to take notes during class. My OneNote was filled with "brilliant" class notes, most of it irreplaceable (my Sports professor gives us tests and factors that the textbook doesn't mention). I had completed my CHBO outline over fall break, and I was really not looking forward to redoing it. All of my articles for my International Criminal Law presentation were on there, and I had to work on my presentation on the school computers.
But there were some blessings in not having a computer for two weeks. I could focus more on my classes rather than get on the Internet (I'm sitting in Civ Pro as I'm writing this). My shorthand writing got a little better. And, as a result of having no computer, I got some fodder for my next blog post: Stuff that ticks me off in law school classes.
I'm not egotistical; I don't think that anyone reads my posts. If they do, that's great. But I'm not arrogant enough to think the ones who read my posts actually alter their behavior as a result of my rants. But I have got to get this out, or I'm going to explode.
1) Students who don't understand the concept of the attendance sheet.
The attendance sheet is a wonderful invention, allowing professors to have the students mark themselves in, rather than waste five-ten minutes of class calling out names. It does have some drawbacks (you have students who mark in others' names, mark themselves in for the previous days when they were absent, etc.), but for the most part, the benefits outweigh the drawbacks.
The attendance sheet is fairly easy to use. It either lists the names in alphabetical order or has a picture of a seating chart. All the student must do is to find their name (which will be located either by following the ABCs or by where they sit in the classroom) and write their names/initials to indicate their attendance.
But for some students, apparently this is too difficult. I can't tell you how many times I have seen a student have the sheet passed to them, and instead of marking their name, they just stare at it. Then they peruse the pages (as if the first letter of their last name has been magically changed from its usual alphabetical order). Then they don't pass it on (seriously this happened to me. A student sitting IN THE MIDDLE of the row thought that the attendance sheet had made its rounds when it reached him, and he didn't pass it on). Suddenly, a ten-second procedure has turned into a three-minute exam.
If you're in law school, you're obviously intelligent. So when the attendance sheet comes to you, recite the ABCs (or if you use a seating chart, look at where you are sitting in the classroom), find your name, and mark it. Or else I reserve the right to throw things at you.
2) Students who raise their hand to volunteer. Then decide they don't want to. Then decide they want to. Then they don't. Then they do.
Every law student knows the student I'm talking about. They raise their hand to volunteer, then decide after awhile they don't want to answer the question anymore, and they put their hand down. Then they realize that they actually do want to answer, so they put their hand back up. And they do this multiple times in a 30-second time period.
I get it. Sometimes a professor will ask a question, and while you have your hand raised, the professor/another student says something that makes you not want to answer because a) the other student has already said it; or b) your answer is not right. In that situation, it is perfectly fine to put your hand down.
I'm addressing this to the students who put their hand up and down more than twice in thirty seconds. And you know the type of hand-raising I'm talking about. It's the timid, "I think I might have something either completely brilliant or completely stupid so I'm going to put my hand up and debate with myself" hand raise. And I hate it.
Moral of the story: Don't raise your hand unless you're absolutely sure you want to answer the question/add something to the discussion.
Or else I will throw things at you.
3) Students who think they can make it down and up 3 floors in order to smoke during a five-minute break from class and then they act surprised when they're late making it back.
This is pretty self-explanatory. This is impossible to do. Stop acting shocked when you discover that you're not Flash Gordon.
4) Professors who are giving a definition and add something completely irrelevant to the middle of it, which throws you off of what the definition is.
Example: The definition of x is when two parties file, which reminds me of the time I was working in this office and Bob came up to my cubicle and asked me if I wanted to go get a Subway sandwich, to which I said no, I prefer Jimmy Johns, and Bob got angry at me and threw all of my papers on the floor, a motion to dismiss based on the grounds that the court lacks a certain type of jurisdiction.
I hate this. Granted, the story the professor interjects in the middle is usually related to the definition/test they are articulating, but still. Save the story for after you finish giving us the information that will actually be on the test. Because usually when you finally finish with the part I need to know, I have lost my train of thought and can't remember what we were trying to define in the first place.
And last but not least:
5) Professors who ban laptops and electronic devices yet talk way too fast for you to write down the definition.
Some professors that I have encountered ban electronic devices for fear of students being on the Internet or playing games rather than paying attention to what they're saying (a valid fear, considering that I'm typing this during class). I completely understand why they do this. They want our full and undivided attention, and it's their class, ergo their prerogative to decide how it's run.
I can type a lot faster than I can write. This is true for every person alive (except for infants...they don't even know they have hands). So, please, professor. If you're going to ban electronic devices, do not talk so fast that my poor hand can't write down the definition and then refuse to repeat yourself. That's just mean.
As many of you know, my computer crashed two weeks ago. It had been teetering on the precipice of complete and total failure for about three months, but two weeks ago, it decided enough was enough. And I can't blame my HP. It was a good computer. I received it as a high school graduation gift, so its run of five and a half years is admirable for a PC. So, like I said, I can't blame it for crashing...it was just really *bleeping* inconvenient.
For the four weeks leading up to my computer crashing, I had been using my computer to take notes during class. My OneNote was filled with "brilliant" class notes, most of it irreplaceable (my Sports professor gives us tests and factors that the textbook doesn't mention). I had completed my CHBO outline over fall break, and I was really not looking forward to redoing it. All of my articles for my International Criminal Law presentation were on there, and I had to work on my presentation on the school computers.
But there were some blessings in not having a computer for two weeks. I could focus more on my classes rather than get on the Internet (I'm sitting in Civ Pro as I'm writing this). My shorthand writing got a little better. And, as a result of having no computer, I got some fodder for my next blog post: Stuff that ticks me off in law school classes.
I'm not egotistical; I don't think that anyone reads my posts. If they do, that's great. But I'm not arrogant enough to think the ones who read my posts actually alter their behavior as a result of my rants. But I have got to get this out, or I'm going to explode.
1) Students who don't understand the concept of the attendance sheet.
The attendance sheet is a wonderful invention, allowing professors to have the students mark themselves in, rather than waste five-ten minutes of class calling out names. It does have some drawbacks (you have students who mark in others' names, mark themselves in for the previous days when they were absent, etc.), but for the most part, the benefits outweigh the drawbacks.
The attendance sheet is fairly easy to use. It either lists the names in alphabetical order or has a picture of a seating chart. All the student must do is to find their name (which will be located either by following the ABCs or by where they sit in the classroom) and write their names/initials to indicate their attendance.
But for some students, apparently this is too difficult. I can't tell you how many times I have seen a student have the sheet passed to them, and instead of marking their name, they just stare at it. Then they peruse the pages (as if the first letter of their last name has been magically changed from its usual alphabetical order). Then they don't pass it on (seriously this happened to me. A student sitting IN THE MIDDLE of the row thought that the attendance sheet had made its rounds when it reached him, and he didn't pass it on). Suddenly, a ten-second procedure has turned into a three-minute exam.
If you're in law school, you're obviously intelligent. So when the attendance sheet comes to you, recite the ABCs (or if you use a seating chart, look at where you are sitting in the classroom), find your name, and mark it. Or else I reserve the right to throw things at you.
2) Students who raise their hand to volunteer. Then decide they don't want to. Then decide they want to. Then they don't. Then they do.
Every law student knows the student I'm talking about. They raise their hand to volunteer, then decide after awhile they don't want to answer the question anymore, and they put their hand down. Then they realize that they actually do want to answer, so they put their hand back up. And they do this multiple times in a 30-second time period.
I get it. Sometimes a professor will ask a question, and while you have your hand raised, the professor/another student says something that makes you not want to answer because a) the other student has already said it; or b) your answer is not right. In that situation, it is perfectly fine to put your hand down.
I'm addressing this to the students who put their hand up and down more than twice in thirty seconds. And you know the type of hand-raising I'm talking about. It's the timid, "I think I might have something either completely brilliant or completely stupid so I'm going to put my hand up and debate with myself" hand raise. And I hate it.
Moral of the story: Don't raise your hand unless you're absolutely sure you want to answer the question/add something to the discussion.
Or else I will throw things at you.
3) Students who think they can make it down and up 3 floors in order to smoke during a five-minute break from class and then they act surprised when they're late making it back.
This is pretty self-explanatory. This is impossible to do. Stop acting shocked when you discover that you're not Flash Gordon.
4) Professors who are giving a definition and add something completely irrelevant to the middle of it, which throws you off of what the definition is.
Example: The definition of x is when two parties file, which reminds me of the time I was working in this office and Bob came up to my cubicle and asked me if I wanted to go get a Subway sandwich, to which I said no, I prefer Jimmy Johns, and Bob got angry at me and threw all of my papers on the floor, a motion to dismiss based on the grounds that the court lacks a certain type of jurisdiction.
I hate this. Granted, the story the professor interjects in the middle is usually related to the definition/test they are articulating, but still. Save the story for after you finish giving us the information that will actually be on the test. Because usually when you finally finish with the part I need to know, I have lost my train of thought and can't remember what we were trying to define in the first place.
And last but not least:
5) Professors who ban laptops and electronic devices yet talk way too fast for you to write down the definition.
Some professors that I have encountered ban electronic devices for fear of students being on the Internet or playing games rather than paying attention to what they're saying (a valid fear, considering that I'm typing this during class). I completely understand why they do this. They want our full and undivided attention, and it's their class, ergo their prerogative to decide how it's run.
I can type a lot faster than I can write. This is true for every person alive (except for infants...they don't even know they have hands). So, please, professor. If you're going to ban electronic devices, do not talk so fast that my poor hand can't write down the definition and then refuse to repeat yourself. That's just mean.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)