**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!
Sunday, December 11, 2011
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.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
You see, Bobs, it's not that I'm lazy. It's that I just don't care.
The only thing I have to say is, "thank goodness I don't write for a weekly newspaper." I'm not doing too well at keeping up at this whole blog-thing. And while I had a good excuse last year (because there were only twenty-four hours in a day and I spent twenty three of them doing something law school related), I don't really have a good one this year. Why is that (I hear people bored with my rambling blog ask)?
Because I don't care.
I don't mean that I don't care in the sense that I've stopped going to class or I've stopped doing my reading. I'm still doing all of that stuff. I'm actually typing this while sitting in the library, dreading my Closely Held Business Organizations reading. What I mean is that I don't care like a I did last year, when I had panic attacks on a semi-regular basis, studied constantly, and worried myself sick over doing badly in my classes. I have become the people I always wanted to be like in high school and college. I would look at the people in my classes who genuinely didn't give a crap about how they did, and I would envy them. Unfortunately for my mother, I am now one of them.
The really surprising thing is that I'm not even sure that I want to care. I look at my life last year and think, "that much stress really couldn't have been healthy." But the thing about that stress is that it was motivating. It kept me going long after I wanted to stop. It allowed me to pull the all-nighter so I could send my appellate brief draft to my TA on time. If we're being honest, it made me some of my really good friends. I started talking to some of my good friends because I was so stressed.
I'm not sure why this year is so different. Maybe because I only like one of my classes, and the rest of the classes I only signed up for because I needed credits, and they were the only classes left. Maybe because I'm not meant to be a law student or be a lawyer. Maybe because what I really want to do I'm not allowed to do (play football in the NFL). Maybe because I only have two friends in the law school. Or maybe it's because law school has finally done what it does best: beat out every ounce of happiness that I had. I don't even think Freud could help me out on this one.
I'm currently in the market for the treatment that Peter Gibbons was searching for. Is there any way to just zonk me out so that I think that I have been playing football all day?
No? Alright then...back to apathy.
Because I don't care.
I don't mean that I don't care in the sense that I've stopped going to class or I've stopped doing my reading. I'm still doing all of that stuff. I'm actually typing this while sitting in the library, dreading my Closely Held Business Organizations reading. What I mean is that I don't care like a I did last year, when I had panic attacks on a semi-regular basis, studied constantly, and worried myself sick over doing badly in my classes. I have become the people I always wanted to be like in high school and college. I would look at the people in my classes who genuinely didn't give a crap about how they did, and I would envy them. Unfortunately for my mother, I am now one of them.
The really surprising thing is that I'm not even sure that I want to care. I look at my life last year and think, "that much stress really couldn't have been healthy." But the thing about that stress is that it was motivating. It kept me going long after I wanted to stop. It allowed me to pull the all-nighter so I could send my appellate brief draft to my TA on time. If we're being honest, it made me some of my really good friends. I started talking to some of my good friends because I was so stressed.
I'm not sure why this year is so different. Maybe because I only like one of my classes, and the rest of the classes I only signed up for because I needed credits, and they were the only classes left. Maybe because I'm not meant to be a law student or be a lawyer. Maybe because what I really want to do I'm not allowed to do (play football in the NFL). Maybe because I only have two friends in the law school. Or maybe it's because law school has finally done what it does best: beat out every ounce of happiness that I had. I don't even think Freud could help me out on this one.
I'm currently in the market for the treatment that Peter Gibbons was searching for. Is there any way to just zonk me out so that I think that I have been playing football all day?
No? Alright then...back to apathy.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Never walk away from a crasher in a funny jacket! Rule #115.
It's been a long time since I have written. It was probably a nice break for those of you who are tired of my rambling, incoherent writing. This long break was a result of my actually trying to enjoy summer, having an internship that I loved, and trying to forget that law school existed.
A lot has changed since the last post. I'm at a new school, in a new city. I've never lived in a city before, and it's been a very interesting experience. I smiled at someone on the street the other day, and she immediately checked her pockets and made sure her purse was still on her shoulder (apparently I give off the "I'm smiling because I just stole your stuff" vibe). I'm closer to family and pre-law school friends, but I had to leave my law school friends. That was the absolute hardest part of this transition. I had to leave the people that have become like family to me, the people that got me through the first year. I cannot begin to say how much I'm going to miss them. But there are some perks to living in a city. My apartment complex is crawling with med students. I'm going to stick to my "only marry for money" pledge and bag me a future surgeon. I can actually order food after 9 p.m. on weeknights. The cross on the steeple of the church across from my apartment hasn't lit me on fire yet (that's not really a perk, just more of a miracle).
I'm not sure why I'm posting now. Perhaps because I still haven't done my reading assignments for my classes (which begin tomorrow). Perhaps because this is my way of dealing with this new life. Perhaps because I'm a bit perturbed that there is a homeless man passed out in front of my apartment door (and he has been there for two days). Thankfully he moved from a sitting position to a lying down position, so he does actually have a pulse.
Tomorrow begins a new chapter. People talk about how exciting it is to begin a new chapter of your life, but they rarely talk about how hard it is to leave the previous chapter. Unless you're talking about a law school textbook, in which case it's not difficult at all to leave the previous chapter. I wish all of my fellow law students the best of luck in this upcoming year. After this, we're two-thirds of the way done. Hopefully we can get out alive and with no ulcers (I've had two in two years).
Maybe I'll go for three ulcers in three years.
Rule #76: No excuses, play like a champion.
A lot has changed since the last post. I'm at a new school, in a new city. I've never lived in a city before, and it's been a very interesting experience. I smiled at someone on the street the other day, and she immediately checked her pockets and made sure her purse was still on her shoulder (apparently I give off the "I'm smiling because I just stole your stuff" vibe). I'm closer to family and pre-law school friends, but I had to leave my law school friends. That was the absolute hardest part of this transition. I had to leave the people that have become like family to me, the people that got me through the first year. I cannot begin to say how much I'm going to miss them. But there are some perks to living in a city. My apartment complex is crawling with med students. I'm going to stick to my "only marry for money" pledge and bag me a future surgeon. I can actually order food after 9 p.m. on weeknights. The cross on the steeple of the church across from my apartment hasn't lit me on fire yet (that's not really a perk, just more of a miracle).
I'm not sure why I'm posting now. Perhaps because I still haven't done my reading assignments for my classes (which begin tomorrow). Perhaps because this is my way of dealing with this new life. Perhaps because I'm a bit perturbed that there is a homeless man passed out in front of my apartment door (and he has been there for two days). Thankfully he moved from a sitting position to a lying down position, so he does actually have a pulse.
Tomorrow begins a new chapter. People talk about how exciting it is to begin a new chapter of your life, but they rarely talk about how hard it is to leave the previous chapter. Unless you're talking about a law school textbook, in which case it's not difficult at all to leave the previous chapter. I wish all of my fellow law students the best of luck in this upcoming year. After this, we're two-thirds of the way done. Hopefully we can get out alive and with no ulcers (I've had two in two years).
Maybe I'll go for three ulcers in three years.
Rule #76: No excuses, play like a champion.
Friday, May 6, 2011
A George divided against itself cannot stand.
With this blog, I have tried to stick to the "write what you know" rule. So, I write about law school because that is ALL that I know now. So, in reality, this blog is a "write what you don't know because writing what you know is impossible to do in law school." This post is going to be a little different. While it still does relate to law school, there are some different topics underlying it.
Today, I would like to start a revolution. Or maybe a small uprising. Or maybe I would just like to justify why there is a method to my craziness. Today, I would like to introduce everyone to the Elevator Rule.
Some of you may know about the Elevator Rule; some of you may not. The Elevator Rule is a great way to live, guaranteeing preservation of a buffer zone. The Elevator Rule goes something like this: When you are alone on an elevator, you stand in the middle. When someone boards the elevator, you move to one side, and the other person stands on the opposite side. If you are on a crowded elevator, and it is necessary to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, that's fine. But if that elevator clears and it's just you and one other person, you better move to opposite ends.
The great thing about this rule: it doesn't apply to just elevator situations. When there are several empty tables at Starbucks, don't sit at a table next to the only other patron in the shop. When there are six open computers in a computer lab, don't sit at the computer right next to me. If we're standing talking, don't stand right next to me. Stand facing me (with some distance between us, please). If we're waiting in a single file line, please don't stand so close that you can tell me what type of shampoo I use. Obviously, there are exceptions. If there are only two empty tables/computers/etc., and you choose to sit next to me, that's is totally fine.
Studying Spanish in college gave me great insight into the differences between Spanish and American cultures. Spanish people tend to be very affectionate, very touchy, very close. Americans have a zone of personal space (a buffer zone), and we are VERY aware when it has been violated. Sometimes I debated on wearing a giant hula hoop around my hips so people would be forced to not crowd me.
I said this was law school-related, and it is. For those of you who know me, you know that I reside in the library. I consider my apartment my home away from home. In the library, I have a zone I like to sit in, and more than that, I have a specific table that I like.
This is your warning. I like my space. It's weird and very American, but I have a buffer zone that I don't like being violated. So the next time you're near me, here is a way to know that you should exercise the Elevator Rule:
1) If all the tables in the library are full, and you sit at mine, that's fine. Completely understandable. I didn't fail the sharing portion of kindergarten. But if other tables open up in the immediate vicinity, MOVE. Don't expect me to move. I've got a laptop, four textbooks, seven hornbooks, 52,783 papers strewn around me, and have been sitting at this table since 7:30 a.m.
If you fail to recognize the Elevator Rule, I reserve the right to turn the volume WAY up on my iPod and blast "Party in the U.S.A.," "Ice Ice Baby," and "Don't Stop Believin'" until you cry or go insane.
Consider yourself warned.
Today, I would like to start a revolution. Or maybe a small uprising. Or maybe I would just like to justify why there is a method to my craziness. Today, I would like to introduce everyone to the Elevator Rule.
Some of you may know about the Elevator Rule; some of you may not. The Elevator Rule is a great way to live, guaranteeing preservation of a buffer zone. The Elevator Rule goes something like this: When you are alone on an elevator, you stand in the middle. When someone boards the elevator, you move to one side, and the other person stands on the opposite side. If you are on a crowded elevator, and it is necessary to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, that's fine. But if that elevator clears and it's just you and one other person, you better move to opposite ends.
The great thing about this rule: it doesn't apply to just elevator situations. When there are several empty tables at Starbucks, don't sit at a table next to the only other patron in the shop. When there are six open computers in a computer lab, don't sit at the computer right next to me. If we're standing talking, don't stand right next to me. Stand facing me (with some distance between us, please). If we're waiting in a single file line, please don't stand so close that you can tell me what type of shampoo I use. Obviously, there are exceptions. If there are only two empty tables/computers/etc., and you choose to sit next to me, that's is totally fine.
Studying Spanish in college gave me great insight into the differences between Spanish and American cultures. Spanish people tend to be very affectionate, very touchy, very close. Americans have a zone of personal space (a buffer zone), and we are VERY aware when it has been violated. Sometimes I debated on wearing a giant hula hoop around my hips so people would be forced to not crowd me.
I said this was law school-related, and it is. For those of you who know me, you know that I reside in the library. I consider my apartment my home away from home. In the library, I have a zone I like to sit in, and more than that, I have a specific table that I like.
This is your warning. I like my space. It's weird and very American, but I have a buffer zone that I don't like being violated. So the next time you're near me, here is a way to know that you should exercise the Elevator Rule:
1) If all the tables in the library are full, and you sit at mine, that's fine. Completely understandable. I didn't fail the sharing portion of kindergarten. But if other tables open up in the immediate vicinity, MOVE. Don't expect me to move. I've got a laptop, four textbooks, seven hornbooks, 52,783 papers strewn around me, and have been sitting at this table since 7:30 a.m.
If you fail to recognize the Elevator Rule, I reserve the right to turn the volume WAY up on my iPod and blast "Party in the U.S.A.," "Ice Ice Baby," and "Don't Stop Believin'" until you cry or go insane.
Consider yourself warned.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Harry, you've got that crazy look in your eye!
Get ready to call me crazy.
For what you're about to read is perhaps the most insane thing I have said all year, and trust me, I have said some pretty insane things during Con Law. Actually, the things I said were more stupid than crazy. But this post, this post is the one that will have the local hospital measuring me for a straitjacket. Are you ready for this?
"I am going to miss being a 1L."
Don't get me wrong, there is not enough money in the world to tempt me to repeat this experience. I realized just how much of a toll this year has taken on me when I looked in the mirror before I went to church yesterday evening (I tiptoed in, eyelids squeezed shut, fingers crossed that I wouldn't be smited...smoted? smitten? smoten?). I was straightening my hair for the third time this entire year, and I thought, "Sweet! My hair is turning super blond in the front!"...Wait for it...Wait for it... "Oh man, those are gray hairs." Gray hairs. At the ripe old age of 23.
Aside from the premature graying, this year has been a rollercoaster. I've alternated between laughing, crying, pulling out my hair, feeling smart 5% of the time, feeling stupid 95% of the time, doubting myself, trusting myself, pulling all-nighters, sleeping through three alarms (seriously, I missed Contracts one day because of that), and finding out that my family and friends will be my legs when I can't physically, mentally, or emotionally support myself anymore. I could not have made it through the year without my family, my pre-law-school friends, and my law school friends. I've had more mental breakdowns than the entire cast did in the movie Girl, Interrupted, and they were all there for me through every single one.
Although there are times when I think I would have rather been in a mental institution, I loved being a 1L. Again, don't misinterpret that. I didn't love the bipolar-ness of the year, but it is a year I will definitely never forget. You learn who you are as a person, as a student, and as a future professional. You learn what you'll tolerate and what you won't. You'll learn where you stand on certain issues that you never even thought about before law school. You'll quote cases in debates with your mother ("US v. Butler, Mom, US v. Butler"). But most importantly, you learn just how much you can take, and you learn what your breaking point is. You learn how strong you are.
It's been a year of self-discovery and realizing that there are 600 people who are Type A control freaks just like me (I sometimes wish they could all come to my high school reunion so that I can show my old classmates I'm not the only one). Next year will be another year of adjustment. Here's the list of things to get used to for next year:
1) Not being a "stupid 1L" (direct quote).
2) Not running around the library like a chicken with my head cut off because I only have five minutes left on my practical exam, and I still have to get two pinpoint cites from Lexis.
3) Not crying over Legal Writing assignments because I'm one page short of the minimum page length.
4) Adjusting to being the middle child of the law school world.
Of course, if I fail my finals, that list will be scrapped. And just in case that happens, I've got my straitjacket already ordered on Amazon.
For what you're about to read is perhaps the most insane thing I have said all year, and trust me, I have said some pretty insane things during Con Law. Actually, the things I said were more stupid than crazy. But this post, this post is the one that will have the local hospital measuring me for a straitjacket. Are you ready for this?
"I am going to miss being a 1L."
Don't get me wrong, there is not enough money in the world to tempt me to repeat this experience. I realized just how much of a toll this year has taken on me when I looked in the mirror before I went to church yesterday evening (I tiptoed in, eyelids squeezed shut, fingers crossed that I wouldn't be smited...smoted? smitten? smoten?). I was straightening my hair for the third time this entire year, and I thought, "Sweet! My hair is turning super blond in the front!"...Wait for it...Wait for it... "Oh man, those are gray hairs." Gray hairs. At the ripe old age of 23.
Aside from the premature graying, this year has been a rollercoaster. I've alternated between laughing, crying, pulling out my hair, feeling smart 5% of the time, feeling stupid 95% of the time, doubting myself, trusting myself, pulling all-nighters, sleeping through three alarms (seriously, I missed Contracts one day because of that), and finding out that my family and friends will be my legs when I can't physically, mentally, or emotionally support myself anymore. I could not have made it through the year without my family, my pre-law-school friends, and my law school friends. I've had more mental breakdowns than the entire cast did in the movie Girl, Interrupted, and they were all there for me through every single one.
Although there are times when I think I would have rather been in a mental institution, I loved being a 1L. Again, don't misinterpret that. I didn't love the bipolar-ness of the year, but it is a year I will definitely never forget. You learn who you are as a person, as a student, and as a future professional. You learn what you'll tolerate and what you won't. You'll learn where you stand on certain issues that you never even thought about before law school. You'll quote cases in debates with your mother ("US v. Butler, Mom, US v. Butler"). But most importantly, you learn just how much you can take, and you learn what your breaking point is. You learn how strong you are.
It's been a year of self-discovery and realizing that there are 600 people who are Type A control freaks just like me (I sometimes wish they could all come to my high school reunion so that I can show my old classmates I'm not the only one). Next year will be another year of adjustment. Here's the list of things to get used to for next year:
1) Not being a "stupid 1L" (direct quote).
2) Not running around the library like a chicken with my head cut off because I only have five minutes left on my practical exam, and I still have to get two pinpoint cites from Lexis.
3) Not crying over Legal Writing assignments because I'm one page short of the minimum page length.
4) Adjusting to being the middle child of the law school world.
Of course, if I fail my finals, that list will be scrapped. And just in case that happens, I've got my straitjacket already ordered on Amazon.
Monday, April 18, 2011
The first step in the excommunication process.
Some of you may not know this, but I am Catholic. I was born and raised Catholic, and I attended Catholic school K-12. While my current religious beliefs are based on the movie Dogma and David Bowie's "Starman," I do still consider myself Catholic for the following reasons: I am terrified of religious icons, feel Catholic guilt every day of my life, started drinking wine at age 8, have worked bingo concessions on Tuesday and Friday nights, and even though I haven't attended church in years, can recite the Nicene Creed at the drop of a hat. And part of being a Catholic school alumna is the ability to recite 70% of the Commandments without assistance.
This blog post is inevitably the first step in my excommunication process (hey, Pope Benny, if you're reading this, e-mail is the best way to contact me). While sitting at home (and by home, I mean the library), I realized that I have broken the mother of all commandments. Let me paint you a picture of how this confession would go if I actually attended confession:
Priest: "Go ahead, my child."
Me: (thinking: "Dude, I'm not related to you") (saying) "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been oh-Lord-you-don't-want-to-know-how-long since my last confession."
Priest: "That seems to be the average time between confessions for most Catholics aged 18-30. Go ahead."
Me: "Father, I have broken the first commandment. I have worshiped an idol."
Father: "What is this idol, my child?"
Me: (Bro, seriously. I know who my parents are, and you're not one of them). "I have worshiped the god Hewlett Packard."
Father: "The computer?"
Me: "Yeah...the computer."
For those of you who aren't Catholic, the First Commandment goes something like this: "I am the Lord your God who brought you out of slavery. Worship no gods but Me." If you learned the Commandments from a Charlton Heston movie, sorry if that's not how you remember it.
In the library this evening, my computer wouldn't start. In between the tears, wanting to throw it out the window, and screaming to myself, "NO! MY OUTLINES AND MEDIATION STATEMENT ARE ON THERE!," I realized that my computer has become an object of worship for me. I praise it when it turns on, plead with it when it makes funny noises, and curse it when it does something I don't want it to do. This is how the majority of the Catholics I have met treat God. Praise Him/Her when things are going good, beg Him/Her when things are uncertain, and take His/Her name in vain when you-know-what is hitting the fan.
As a law student, our laptops become part of us. They are extensions of our fingers, and without my laptop in front of me, life just seems bare. Every law student has heard the story of what other law students have done to protect their laptops. If you haven't heard, let me fill you in. A robber broke into a law student's apartment with a baseball bat. The student woke up, realized what was happening, and said something to the effect of, "Take what you want." (I mean come on, the guy's got a baseball bat, and your worst weapon is your Con Law book. It doesn't take Einstein to figure out who's going to win that one). The robber begins taking things, and then goes for the student's laptop. The student says, "Please don't take my laptop. My case outlines are on there." The robber, doing what robbers do best and stealing something you don't want them to steal (otherwise they wouldn't be called robbers, just crazy people who break in and look at your stuff), takes the laptop anyway. The student attacks the robber, gets the baseball bat from him, and proceeds to beat the robber with the weapon the robber brought to beat him (I love good irony).
While those of you who aren't law students may be thinking, "Wow, that's crazy!," those of us who are law students are saying "BINGO." That's exactly how it's going to go down if you try to take our laptops. The $5,000 student loan check on my desk? Yours. My grandmother's antique, one-of-a-kind ring? It'll look great on you. My laptop? I'm going Tonya Harding on your ass.
And that's why I'm most likely going to be excommunicated. Because if The Almighty comes down to earth and gives me a choice between my laptop and eternal life, my answer is inevitably going to be:
"Can I take a minute to think about this one?"
This blog post is inevitably the first step in my excommunication process (hey, Pope Benny, if you're reading this, e-mail is the best way to contact me). While sitting at home (and by home, I mean the library), I realized that I have broken the mother of all commandments. Let me paint you a picture of how this confession would go if I actually attended confession:
Priest: "Go ahead, my child."
Me: (thinking: "Dude, I'm not related to you") (saying) "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been oh-Lord-you-don't-want-to-know-how-long since my last confession."
Priest: "That seems to be the average time between confessions for most Catholics aged 18-30. Go ahead."
Me: "Father, I have broken the first commandment. I have worshiped an idol."
Father: "What is this idol, my child?"
Me: (Bro, seriously. I know who my parents are, and you're not one of them). "I have worshiped the god Hewlett Packard."
Father: "The computer?"
Me: "Yeah...the computer."
For those of you who aren't Catholic, the First Commandment goes something like this: "I am the Lord your God who brought you out of slavery. Worship no gods but Me." If you learned the Commandments from a Charlton Heston movie, sorry if that's not how you remember it.
In the library this evening, my computer wouldn't start. In between the tears, wanting to throw it out the window, and screaming to myself, "NO! MY OUTLINES AND MEDIATION STATEMENT ARE ON THERE!," I realized that my computer has become an object of worship for me. I praise it when it turns on, plead with it when it makes funny noises, and curse it when it does something I don't want it to do. This is how the majority of the Catholics I have met treat God. Praise Him/Her when things are going good, beg Him/Her when things are uncertain, and take His/Her name in vain when you-know-what is hitting the fan.
As a law student, our laptops become part of us. They are extensions of our fingers, and without my laptop in front of me, life just seems bare. Every law student has heard the story of what other law students have done to protect their laptops. If you haven't heard, let me fill you in. A robber broke into a law student's apartment with a baseball bat. The student woke up, realized what was happening, and said something to the effect of, "Take what you want." (I mean come on, the guy's got a baseball bat, and your worst weapon is your Con Law book. It doesn't take Einstein to figure out who's going to win that one). The robber begins taking things, and then goes for the student's laptop. The student says, "Please don't take my laptop. My case outlines are on there." The robber, doing what robbers do best and stealing something you don't want them to steal (otherwise they wouldn't be called robbers, just crazy people who break in and look at your stuff), takes the laptop anyway. The student attacks the robber, gets the baseball bat from him, and proceeds to beat the robber with the weapon the robber brought to beat him (I love good irony).
While those of you who aren't law students may be thinking, "Wow, that's crazy!," those of us who are law students are saying "BINGO." That's exactly how it's going to go down if you try to take our laptops. The $5,000 student loan check on my desk? Yours. My grandmother's antique, one-of-a-kind ring? It'll look great on you. My laptop? I'm going Tonya Harding on your ass.
And that's why I'm most likely going to be excommunicated. Because if The Almighty comes down to earth and gives me a choice between my laptop and eternal life, my answer is inevitably going to be:
"Can I take a minute to think about this one?"
Monday, April 4, 2011
Maybe because she knows you're going to jail.
My heart pounds. I walk down the hallway to my doom. People give me sad, sympathetic smiles as I pass; they know that every step I take is one step closer to the end. There is a weight in my stomach, and something is pressing down on my chest, making it almost impossible to breathe. I reach the room and open the door. It is time.
It's amazing how the walk to a law school final sounds a lot like a death row inmate's march to the execution chamber. When you think about it, there's not much difference. Well, except that law students are still alive after their final...for the most part.
We have begun the last mile of the marathon. I go back and forth between wanting to sprint it and wanting to crawl it. The weight of what I still don't understand in my classes crashes down on me every minute of every day, and we've still got four weeks until finals. That feeling makes me want to crawl it. Knowing that I can have a drink after it's all over makes me want to sprint it.
For me, this is where the doubt comes storming in like the Kool-Aid man through a wall. Did they make a mistake when they admitted me to law school? Did I miss something important my professor said? I bet when I was writing down that definition that won't even be on the final, the professors unleashed the secret of how to get an A on the exam.
There's an interesting mood in the law school right before finals. The mood goes from stressful to something they haven't even come up with a word for. In the library, don't talk. At all. Learn sign language; it's extremely useful. And for your own safety, put a silencer on your backpack zipper. Learn how to chew silently. Learn how to write silently. Learn how to make every single breath you take, every single move you make, and every single step you take silent (couldn't pass that reference up). Because if an overworked, sleep-deprived, day-before-the-final law student attacks you because you had the audacity to breathe through your mouth, I can't think of one judge or jury out there who would convict.
There is a light, I think. It's hard to tell. My Con Law final is blocking it.
Someone check my pulse after finals are done. Make sure it's still there.
It's amazing how the walk to a law school final sounds a lot like a death row inmate's march to the execution chamber. When you think about it, there's not much difference. Well, except that law students are still alive after their final...for the most part.
We have begun the last mile of the marathon. I go back and forth between wanting to sprint it and wanting to crawl it. The weight of what I still don't understand in my classes crashes down on me every minute of every day, and we've still got four weeks until finals. That feeling makes me want to crawl it. Knowing that I can have a drink after it's all over makes me want to sprint it.
For me, this is where the doubt comes storming in like the Kool-Aid man through a wall. Did they make a mistake when they admitted me to law school? Did I miss something important my professor said? I bet when I was writing down that definition that won't even be on the final, the professors unleashed the secret of how to get an A on the exam.
There's an interesting mood in the law school right before finals. The mood goes from stressful to something they haven't even come up with a word for. In the library, don't talk. At all. Learn sign language; it's extremely useful. And for your own safety, put a silencer on your backpack zipper. Learn how to chew silently. Learn how to write silently. Learn how to make every single breath you take, every single move you make, and every single step you take silent (couldn't pass that reference up). Because if an overworked, sleep-deprived, day-before-the-final law student attacks you because you had the audacity to breathe through your mouth, I can't think of one judge or jury out there who would convict.
There is a light, I think. It's hard to tell. My Con Law final is blocking it.
Someone check my pulse after finals are done. Make sure it's still there.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
What day is it?...October?
In my Con Law class last week, our professor offered an interesting theory. While discussing something I can't remember (which may prove this theory), he explained what is happening to our law school knowledge. "Law students' brains are like a bathtub," he states. "For a semester, the bathtub fills up with water (knowledge) until it's brimming, about to overflow. Then you take your final." He goes on to add (with some added comments from me), "Somewhere between the door to the final and the exit of the law school, someone pulls the plug from the bathtub drain, and all the water goes swirling down the drain as quickly as it can. What's left is a ring that no one wants to touch." He then went on to point out examples, such as consideration from Contracts (to which I asked, "We took Contracts?"), and other things...I don't know, I wasn't really paying attention (I'm kidding...that's my urge to quote nineties movies rearing its grungy head).
I was laughing during class, but now I have realized that I disagree with this theory. Law students retain all sorts of knowledge. I have attempted to distill some of these tidbits of knowledge into this post.
1) I know not to say in Con Law that I think Scalia doesn't have a sense of humor...because apparently I'm wrong.
2) I know that a professor at the law school likes a Lady Gaga song.
3) I know that another professor at the law school hates the State Farm commercials.
4) I know that it is possible to sleep in the library chairs.
5) I know that I can sleep through two alarms, one of them being from the '80s and extremely annoying.
6) I know that the only thing I will remember from my law school assignments is the Honor Code.
7) I know that I will never eat peanut butter...ever again.
8) I know that Legal Writing assignments will make you hate the English language.
9) I know that "free time" is a laughable concept.
And last, but certainly not least:
10) I know that there is not enough coffee in the world to keep a student awake during Legal Research.
The bathtub theory is hereby debunked.
Now can someone tell me what FRCP stands for?
I was laughing during class, but now I have realized that I disagree with this theory. Law students retain all sorts of knowledge. I have attempted to distill some of these tidbits of knowledge into this post.
1) I know not to say in Con Law that I think Scalia doesn't have a sense of humor...because apparently I'm wrong.
2) I know that a professor at the law school likes a Lady Gaga song.
3) I know that another professor at the law school hates the State Farm commercials.
4) I know that it is possible to sleep in the library chairs.
5) I know that I can sleep through two alarms, one of them being from the '80s and extremely annoying.
6) I know that the only thing I will remember from my law school assignments is the Honor Code.
7) I know that I will never eat peanut butter...ever again.
8) I know that Legal Writing assignments will make you hate the English language.
9) I know that "free time" is a laughable concept.
And last, but certainly not least:
10) I know that there is not enough coffee in the world to keep a student awake during Legal Research.
The bathtub theory is hereby debunked.
Now can someone tell me what FRCP stands for?
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Dave, Sherby doesn't think the Navy hangs people from yardarms anymore.
I haven't posted in awhile. That is the direct consequence of dedicating the last two weeks of my life to the bane of every 1L's existence: the Appellate Brief.
For those of you lucky enough to have avoided the insanity of law school, the Appellate Brief is the major spring semester writing assignment that every 1L must somehow survive. The process is filled with all-nighters (I'm at three so far), caffeine-induced shakes, and breakdowns in front of your TA because you're at twenty-two pages, and the minimum requirement is twenty-three (yes, yes. That was me). It's editing, more editing, editing your first edits, editing your second edits, on and on until the word "edit" becomes the only word in your vocabulary.
Then, just when you think you're done, you have to get it bound, and the assignment that you thought couldn't possibly get any more stressful all of a sudden hits a 10 on the Richter law school scale. The binding process itself is not stressful because someone else binds it for you. What's stressful is the handing over of 45% of your grade to someone else, and trusting them with it. I've felt more comfortable trusting people with my life.
During the Appellate Brief writing process, you find yourself giving the characters life. I found myself reprimanding my fictional client because of all the times for a junior high girl to keep her mouth shut, she chose the wrong one. I yelled at the fictional boy who skipped the day in kindergarten when they taught us "to keep our hands to ourselves." I found myself responding to the fictional statements of the fictional depositions.
This immersion into the Appellate Brief (which I think is what psychiatrists call "a psychotic break"...what do they know?) highlighted one very real truth. As law students, we live in a different reality. We live in a reality that when someone says the word "night," our first question is immediately, "Which night do you mean? Dusk? Eight p.m.? Midnight?" Our reality becomes filled with battery, negligence, fee simples, and the difference between strict scrutiny, intermediate scrutiny, and rational basis tests. Our literatutre consists of cases, depositions, affidavits, interrogatories, law review articles, etc. The highlight of our week(end) is when we can finish our Legal Research assignments in under three hours. When we pass a fender bender on the road, we start assessing the possible negligence claims.
Maybe I formed this alternate reality because it's all I know now. Maybe this reality always existed, and I'm just now realizing that I live in it. But one day, it will be worth it. The J.D. behind our names, finally getting to apply the knowledge we acquired during our three years of endless stress, and the first paycheck will make us glad we went through it. Ok, maybe not glad, but maybe we will be able to look back without cringing. Or maybe, just maybe, the new world I live in has made me so optimistic that I'm toeing the line between optimism and psychosis.
For me, it will all be worth it when I get to quote A Few Good Men in court.
Dream big, kids. Dream big.
For those of you lucky enough to have avoided the insanity of law school, the Appellate Brief is the major spring semester writing assignment that every 1L must somehow survive. The process is filled with all-nighters (I'm at three so far), caffeine-induced shakes, and breakdowns in front of your TA because you're at twenty-two pages, and the minimum requirement is twenty-three (yes, yes. That was me). It's editing, more editing, editing your first edits, editing your second edits, on and on until the word "edit" becomes the only word in your vocabulary.
Then, just when you think you're done, you have to get it bound, and the assignment that you thought couldn't possibly get any more stressful all of a sudden hits a 10 on the Richter law school scale. The binding process itself is not stressful because someone else binds it for you. What's stressful is the handing over of 45% of your grade to someone else, and trusting them with it. I've felt more comfortable trusting people with my life.
During the Appellate Brief writing process, you find yourself giving the characters life. I found myself reprimanding my fictional client because of all the times for a junior high girl to keep her mouth shut, she chose the wrong one. I yelled at the fictional boy who skipped the day in kindergarten when they taught us "to keep our hands to ourselves." I found myself responding to the fictional statements of the fictional depositions.
This immersion into the Appellate Brief (which I think is what psychiatrists call "a psychotic break"...what do they know?) highlighted one very real truth. As law students, we live in a different reality. We live in a reality that when someone says the word "night," our first question is immediately, "Which night do you mean? Dusk? Eight p.m.? Midnight?" Our reality becomes filled with battery, negligence, fee simples, and the difference between strict scrutiny, intermediate scrutiny, and rational basis tests. Our literatutre consists of cases, depositions, affidavits, interrogatories, law review articles, etc. The highlight of our week(end) is when we can finish our Legal Research assignments in under three hours. When we pass a fender bender on the road, we start assessing the possible negligence claims.
Maybe I formed this alternate reality because it's all I know now. Maybe this reality always existed, and I'm just now realizing that I live in it. But one day, it will be worth it. The J.D. behind our names, finally getting to apply the knowledge we acquired during our three years of endless stress, and the first paycheck will make us glad we went through it. Ok, maybe not glad, but maybe we will be able to look back without cringing. Or maybe, just maybe, the new world I live in has made me so optimistic that I'm toeing the line between optimism and psychosis.
For me, it will all be worth it when I get to quote A Few Good Men in court.
Dream big, kids. Dream big.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Where we're going, we don't need roads.
Sometimes I hold grudges. I'm not sure why; I just do. The funny thing is, though, I don't hold grudges against people I know. I hold grudges against people I have never met and will never meet. Michael Vick, for one. He is forever off of my Christmas card list. Bill Belichick is another one. He knows why.
Then I came to law school. And now I'm holding the biggest grudge of my life. And the lucky target is:
King Henry VIII.
Hanks 1-7, I'm cool with you. But this is between me and Hank #8.
If you stopped reading at this point (and you probably have), you would think that this post is going to be a feminist rant, calling him pompous and tyrannical, and quite possibly, the biggest grudge holder of all time. He chopped off chicas' heads because they wouldn't give him a son or whatever. But this is not a feminist rant, and my grudge against Henry VIII has nothing to do with his interesting take on marriage and women.
My grudge against Henry VIII is purely because of the law of Property. Law students struggle with Fee Simples, Executory Interests, and Vested Remainders Subject to Open, and we wonder, "When will this misery end?" And then it gets worse. The Rule Against Perpetuities. The Rule Against Perpetuities was Hank #8's way of ensuring that he would get to laugh at first year law students almost 500 years after his death.
I am determined to master the Rule Against Perpetuities and not let Henry VIII win. We threw off England's tyranny once before, let's do it again! We'll rebel against the law of Property, and then we'll go down in history. They'll call it the Second Revolutionary War...or something more creative. It can't miss.
Until the history books are rewritten to reflect our victory over the Rule Against Perpetuities and the law of Property, I say we find some plutonium, buy a DeLorean, gun it to 1536, and slap Henry VIII in the face.
And then we run like hell.
Then I came to law school. And now I'm holding the biggest grudge of my life. And the lucky target is:
King Henry VIII.
Hanks 1-7, I'm cool with you. But this is between me and Hank #8.
If you stopped reading at this point (and you probably have), you would think that this post is going to be a feminist rant, calling him pompous and tyrannical, and quite possibly, the biggest grudge holder of all time. He chopped off chicas' heads because they wouldn't give him a son or whatever. But this is not a feminist rant, and my grudge against Henry VIII has nothing to do with his interesting take on marriage and women.
My grudge against Henry VIII is purely because of the law of Property. Law students struggle with Fee Simples, Executory Interests, and Vested Remainders Subject to Open, and we wonder, "When will this misery end?" And then it gets worse. The Rule Against Perpetuities. The Rule Against Perpetuities was Hank #8's way of ensuring that he would get to laugh at first year law students almost 500 years after his death.
I am determined to master the Rule Against Perpetuities and not let Henry VIII win. We threw off England's tyranny once before, let's do it again! We'll rebel against the law of Property, and then we'll go down in history. They'll call it the Second Revolutionary War...or something more creative. It can't miss.
Until the history books are rewritten to reflect our victory over the Rule Against Perpetuities and the law of Property, I say we find some plutonium, buy a DeLorean, gun it to 1536, and slap Henry VIII in the face.
And then we run like hell.
Monday, February 14, 2011
That wildebeest is getting awa...Never mind.
Every Friday, the law school conducts tours and visits for those interested in attending law school. You can distinguish these visitors from the law students in three ways:
1) They are not weighed down by ninety pounds of books that has their backpack begging for mercy.
2) They are not carrying coffee or any other form of caffeine.
3) They look happy.
I watch these innocent faces stroll through the law school, unaware of what they are signing up for. My incessant need to quote 90's movies overtakes me, and I have to fight the urge to run up to these people, grab their faces, and yell, "Don't ever say that! Stay...stay as long as you can! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CHERISH IT!"
The irony settles in while I watch the tour: we can't warn them. Why can't we warn them? Because no one could warn us. In a school/profession that makes a living utilizing the English language, there are simply no words to express what they are about to get themselves into.
The animal channels often show footage of wildebeests, gnus, gazelles, and other animals getting mauled by cheetahs, lions, tigers, etc. Sometimes I watch because it's great to see that the stuff that goes on in the human world happens in the animal world as well. Once in awhile, though, you get that rogue wildebeest. The one that won't be caught. You're thinking, "this animal could get away!" And you start cheering for it, all the while realizing that while the wildebeest is putting up a valiant fight, the cheetah will win. It might not be today, it might not be tomorrow, but sooner or later, the cheetah will lay the smack down on the wildebeest, and everything will be right in the animal world once again.
It's the same feeling watching these innocent people take the tour of the law school. They're going to come in with an unbreakable spirit, running away from the dark force that threatens to overtake their sanity. But in the end, we all know who will win. It's an unbeatable force, this law school deal. And while you may outrun it for awhile, it will catch up to you eventually.
So enjoy the watering hole, innocent wildebeests. But remember the cheetah is always lurking in the tall grass.
1) They are not weighed down by ninety pounds of books that has their backpack begging for mercy.
2) They are not carrying coffee or any other form of caffeine.
3) They look happy.
I watch these innocent faces stroll through the law school, unaware of what they are signing up for. My incessant need to quote 90's movies overtakes me, and I have to fight the urge to run up to these people, grab their faces, and yell, "Don't ever say that! Stay...stay as long as you can! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CHERISH IT!"
The irony settles in while I watch the tour: we can't warn them. Why can't we warn them? Because no one could warn us. In a school/profession that makes a living utilizing the English language, there are simply no words to express what they are about to get themselves into.
The animal channels often show footage of wildebeests, gnus, gazelles, and other animals getting mauled by cheetahs, lions, tigers, etc. Sometimes I watch because it's great to see that the stuff that goes on in the human world happens in the animal world as well. Once in awhile, though, you get that rogue wildebeest. The one that won't be caught. You're thinking, "this animal could get away!" And you start cheering for it, all the while realizing that while the wildebeest is putting up a valiant fight, the cheetah will win. It might not be today, it might not be tomorrow, but sooner or later, the cheetah will lay the smack down on the wildebeest, and everything will be right in the animal world once again.
It's the same feeling watching these innocent people take the tour of the law school. They're going to come in with an unbreakable spirit, running away from the dark force that threatens to overtake their sanity. But in the end, we all know who will win. It's an unbeatable force, this law school deal. And while you may outrun it for awhile, it will catch up to you eventually.
So enjoy the watering hole, innocent wildebeests. But remember the cheetah is always lurking in the tall grass.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
I was expecting Legally Blonde. Instead I got The Paper Chase.
I'm starting a blog. I know that is quite obvious, but I've never written a blog before. I don't know why I'm starting a blog; it's not like I think anything I have to say is valuable or that anyone will care. But at some point during my exhausting Tuesday schedule I realized that I needed some sort of catharsis besides calling everyone in my contacts list and complaining about my life. So, like all the TV therapists suggest, I'm transferring my frustration to paper (which nowadays means the Internet).
I left my undergrad in a very ungraceful manner. Some people can't wait to graduate college, others are hesitant, and then there are some who don't want to leave. I was dragged out kicking and screaming. My last semester, I actually contemplated ways to somehow not earn the one credit I needed to graduate. My first semester of my senior year was filled with GRE studying, graduate school applications, and classwork. Then, one day, while sitting in my kitchen on FB, I read someone's status about studying for the LSAT. And I thought, "hey, I should sign up for the LSAT!" This "moment of clarity" was preceded by the sickening feeling I felt in my stomach when I realized that, if I went to graduate school, I would be writing Spanish papers for another two years. So I signed up for the LSAT.
You ever look back at moments in your life and realize, "THAT was my downfall"? You know, the one beer that sent you over the edge, the to-die-for shoes you bought that slowly and painfully tried to kill your feet, and the perm that your hairstylist said would look "fabulous" on you? The "hey, I should sign up for the LSAT"? That was mine.
Before you begin law school, everyone tells you how hard it is going to be. To be fair, no one ever said "Psssh, it will be the easiest thing of your life!" If that were true, law school movies wouldn't be nearly as popular if we couldn't watch the protagonist helplessly struggle and then emerge triumphantly at the end of it all. I knew it was going to be hard; I didn't know it was going to be life-altering. Suddenly, you eat, drink, and breathe law school. I once dreamed about trying to modify a contract, and sat straight up in bed and yelled, "MUTUALITY OF OBLIGATION!" It consumes your mind 24/7, and it becomes impossible to talk or think the same way you did before.
But there are some valuable things that law school has taught me so far:
1) Don't say "Promissory Estoppel" until your professor says you can.
2) You can master the Erie doctrine...kind of.
3) In the library during finals week, make as little noise as possible if you want to survive...seriously.
4) Don't be late to Civil Procedure.
5) Striking up random conversations with people is the best way to make friends. I think that's how I met all the people I talk to.
6) Don't expect the law school to turn the heat on, even though you're paying tens of thousands of dollars to attend.
7) Con Law is like an auction. Don't make any sudden movements so you don't get the attention of the auctioneer. You don't want to bid on a Commerce Clause question that you don't know the answer to.
8) Be prepared to say "Wtf?" every single day in Property.
9) Realize you're not alone, and if you feel like you're drowning, talk to someone. It's extremely likely that at least 75% of your classmates are feeling exactly the same way.
But the most important thing that law school has taught me is
10) Appreciate the little things. The afternoon nap you get to take every two months, the rare night you don't have to read, getting to watch a new movie (or any movie for that matter), and that overwhelming sense of joy you feel when you find the Legal Research case that you have been pulling your hair out trying to find for 2 hours.
Hopefully this blog will help relieve the stress of studying the law. Alcoholism runs rampant among lawyers. I wonder if there's a correlation...
I left my undergrad in a very ungraceful manner. Some people can't wait to graduate college, others are hesitant, and then there are some who don't want to leave. I was dragged out kicking and screaming. My last semester, I actually contemplated ways to somehow not earn the one credit I needed to graduate. My first semester of my senior year was filled with GRE studying, graduate school applications, and classwork. Then, one day, while sitting in my kitchen on FB, I read someone's status about studying for the LSAT. And I thought, "hey, I should sign up for the LSAT!" This "moment of clarity" was preceded by the sickening feeling I felt in my stomach when I realized that, if I went to graduate school, I would be writing Spanish papers for another two years. So I signed up for the LSAT.
You ever look back at moments in your life and realize, "THAT was my downfall"? You know, the one beer that sent you over the edge, the to-die-for shoes you bought that slowly and painfully tried to kill your feet, and the perm that your hairstylist said would look "fabulous" on you? The "hey, I should sign up for the LSAT"? That was mine.
Before you begin law school, everyone tells you how hard it is going to be. To be fair, no one ever said "Psssh, it will be the easiest thing of your life!" If that were true, law school movies wouldn't be nearly as popular if we couldn't watch the protagonist helplessly struggle and then emerge triumphantly at the end of it all. I knew it was going to be hard; I didn't know it was going to be life-altering. Suddenly, you eat, drink, and breathe law school. I once dreamed about trying to modify a contract, and sat straight up in bed and yelled, "MUTUALITY OF OBLIGATION!" It consumes your mind 24/7, and it becomes impossible to talk or think the same way you did before.
But there are some valuable things that law school has taught me so far:
1) Don't say "Promissory Estoppel" until your professor says you can.
2) You can master the Erie doctrine...kind of.
3) In the library during finals week, make as little noise as possible if you want to survive...seriously.
4) Don't be late to Civil Procedure.
5) Striking up random conversations with people is the best way to make friends. I think that's how I met all the people I talk to.
6) Don't expect the law school to turn the heat on, even though you're paying tens of thousands of dollars to attend.
7) Con Law is like an auction. Don't make any sudden movements so you don't get the attention of the auctioneer. You don't want to bid on a Commerce Clause question that you don't know the answer to.
8) Be prepared to say "Wtf?" every single day in Property.
9) Realize you're not alone, and if you feel like you're drowning, talk to someone. It's extremely likely that at least 75% of your classmates are feeling exactly the same way.
But the most important thing that law school has taught me is
10) Appreciate the little things. The afternoon nap you get to take every two months, the rare night you don't have to read, getting to watch a new movie (or any movie for that matter), and that overwhelming sense of joy you feel when you find the Legal Research case that you have been pulling your hair out trying to find for 2 hours.
Hopefully this blog will help relieve the stress of studying the law. Alcoholism runs rampant among lawyers. I wonder if there's a correlation...
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