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.

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...

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.

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.