Saturday, April 29, 2006

Aww geez . . .

Last semester, during my Torts review session, there was a girl having a very difficult time understanding a concept.

She asked several questions about how a casual relationship could give rise to liability. Obviously, if there is a casual relationship, there is no intimacy, so how could the But-For test apply?

The Prof. had a difficult time understanding her question. For whatever reason he could not understand what the hell she was talking about.

I felt his pain. After all, I understood immediately, but seeing as how I rubberneck car accidents, I did not say anything. After all, everything she needed to know was right there in the book.

What did the book say? I am pretty sure that it was talking about a causal relationship. So much for those critical reading skills.

Friday, April 28, 2006

May I Have Your Attention Please

I hate onions.

Thank you, that is all.

Carry on.

Thursday, April 27, 2006

An Odd Finals Week

My first final was Monday. If you look at the post just below this, you will get a good idea of how it went. After failing miserably, I coped the only way I know how, and probably fell asleep around 3 a.m., after making a few offerings to the porcelain god.

Predictably, I woke up the next day feeling like my head had been in a vise all night, as opposed to laying comfortably on bag of feathers. Not feeling like composing an outline, I decide that I should relax, wait for the Advil to kick in and watch some TV. And watch TV I did. Around 7 I had decided to imbibe some liquid motivation, seeing as how I still had 8 bottles in my fridge. I figured better to drink it now, than later. It is all about instant gratification.

I finally shut off the TV around 9 p.m. and got to work on my outline for my Thursday final. I polished off the beer around 11 and switched to coffee. That was about the time that I totally committed myself to finishing my outline before I slept. I forged on, until the sun came up. Around 6 a.m. I was about 3/4ths of the way through my outline, and cashed in my chips for the night (morning).

Granted, I had spent the entire evening drinking coffee, which made sleep very difficult. I laid in bed for two hours, my body too tired to move, but my heart was pumping 120 times a minute as though it was pleading with my liver to purge the caffeine from my body. Eventually my liver acquiesced, metabolized the evil stimulant, and I drifted off.

For 4 hours. Colin Cowherd woke me up at noon, ranting about something that I did not care to hear. He badgered me every four minutes, forcing me out of bed at 1. I completed my outline (49 pages plus 20 pages of statutes if you care), printed it out, and settled into a long night of studying. That is, until the talking heads on ESPN distracted me at 5, followed by The Simpsons and My Wife and Kids. Thankfully, the next syndicated episode of The Simpsons that was to follow My Wife and Kids was preempted, and I was able to begin actually looking at the outline I could barely recall making.

I got through the first page, and realized that I had to sleep. It was 7 o'clock and I was done. I took a moment to examine my options: I could sleep now, wake up extremely early and start my review (it was an open book exam), or I could soldier on start reading now, and pass out when I passed out.

I went with option 2. I climbed into bed, curled up under my covers, and got to reading. I read until 9:30, when I gave up, shut off the lights, and set the alarm for 4:30 a.m. Sadly, I never made it that far.

Apparently, the Undergrad kids at my school finished class on Wednesday. Thursday, Friday and the weekend are all study days. Hmmm...let's see, last day of classes, four study days, what would you do? I know what I would do. I awoke at 1 a.m. to the sounds of everyone and their brother heading home from the bar. The streets were alive with the sounds of drunken jubilation. To make matters worse, my overly-tired mind decided to play a cruel trick on me. I honestly awoke, thinking that I was a large African-American trying to understand a statute that did not exist (I looked it up later, seriously). I am a regular white guy, but earlier that evening on My Wife and Kids there was a highly uninspired plot that involved a large black man, and my cracked-out dreaming mind had some how convinced me that I was this guy, and I was studying for my exam.

I know, this is very weird, I cannot explain it. I am just doing the best I can to convey the message.

I eventually came out of my stupor, and realized that I was me, at 1:30. I figured I could fall back asleep and get up at my regularly scheduled time of 4:30. Two minutes later, the perils of young love reared its ugly head. Right outside my window, a couple decided to have a drunken argument.

I hoped that it would burn itself out relatively quickly, but I had no such luck. After fifteen minutes of hearing a girl say, "But, I Love You!" and the guy respond, "I Don't Care" I gave up, got out of bed and started studying. I never did catch what they were fighting about, but that is OK, I am just going to assume that the guy walked in on the girl having a three-way with a priest and a nun.

So, at 2 a.m., I started my hardcore studying. Four hours of sleep was not conducive to studying, so I began caffeinating myself, again. Apparently, I do not learn. I never like to brag about how much I had to drink, but between 2 a.m. and the end of my exam at 4:30 p.m. I had 8 cups of coffee (with cancer causing Sweet 'n Low), 8 cans of Pepsi, and 2 twenty-ounce Cherry Cokes (those were during the exam). In related news, my teeth really hurt.

I have been exhausted pretty much all day. I have no idea how I made it through. Once I began my exam, all the exhausted ache in my bones faded away, and I was able to focus, and get through it. I would never predict my performance on any exam, but I do not need any liquid self-esteem tonight.

And now that I have this written up, I am going to bed (after The Simpsons).

Monday, April 24, 2006

Exam #1

I was Paul Kariya, The Exam Was Scott Stevens . . . Any Questions?

Kariya came back five minutes later and scored a goal. There is still hope for me.

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Studying Has Ruined My Life

Someone on my buddy list has an away message up saying "Reward!! Lost: Motivation to study for Contracts. If Found; Please Contact."

My FIRST thought:

"Good thing she mentioned that there is a reward, because if I find it, I can collect the reward. If I found it and did not know about the reward, some jurisdictions may not let me recover the reward."

I hate studying. Thankfully, that information will be vanquished from my brain in less than 24 hours.

Friday, April 21, 2006

Finals Rule #3

For God's Sake; Shower!

I do not know if I experienced this problem during my first go round of finals, they were all in the afternoon, but regardless, I can see where this can be a problem. It is bad enough sitting through a 50 minutes class when someone stinks (yeah, I am guilty of this, tough). But, as is everything during finals week, it becomes amplified exponentially.

Remember when that guy farted in your Torts class? And you just kind of sat there, looking around, trying to figure out who did, but at the same time, tried to play it cool so no one would think that you dealt it? And that is how you missed five minutes of the lecture. No one can handle being distracted for a few moments during an exam. And if you stink, you are hurting your classmates (unless you are that obsessive, and think that this will give you an edge, go for it, but excision from the law school community may result).

So what does this mean you have to do before the exam? First, take a shower, and use soap and shampoo. I have no idea what conditioner does (obviously it conditions the hair, but I do not know what that means), but if you want to use that too, go for it. Second, brush your teeth. Maybe twice. Even though it is unlikely that you will be breathing on anyone during the exam, you don't want to get distracted wondering if you have bad breath (unless you have gingivitis, then see a failed doctor). Third, clean underwear, shirt, pants and socks. No one wants to smell your B.O. soaked shirt that you have been for the last three days while you were studying because you were so focused on studying that you forgot what deodorant was (unless you are in products liability and dealing with that horrible rash case). Additionally, leave the sandals for the beach. Wear normal shoes. I know that sandals are comfortable (I have been sporting mine for the last couple weeks), but tough test=sweaty feet=smelly feet=exam room smelling like feet. Take the 45 seconds to put on a clean pair of socks and normal shoes.

So what don't you have to do? The most obvious one is dress up nice. Don't wear a suit/pant suit to the exam. The Prof. won't be there, so you won't impress him. If you are a woman and dressing up nice gives you more confidence, then go for it, but do not wear something that shows off your cleavage or legs that go all the way down to the floor. Normally, I love seeing women all sexed up, but finals week is neither the time nor the place. During Winter exams, I would recommend wearing either the most comfortable loose fitting sweatshirt you have. That is what I sported for my exams, and was extremely comfortable. I have never had a Spring exam that lasted more than an hour, so I am not sure what the best clothing is. I guess whatever your bag is will work best. I never wear shorts, but if you like shorts, wear shorts. If you like polos, wear a polo, if you like dress shirts, wear a dress shirt. Just make sure that it is clean, and doesn't smell like the bar you went to last week or ass. The one article of clothing to avoid, and this goes for men and women, is the Tank-Top. Dudes look like morons, in a horribly disgusting way, and Women look to damn good. Just avoid at all costs.

So what have we learned? Nothing, you just wasted a shit load of time reading this while you could have been studying for finals. Rest assured though, I wasted a lot more time writing this than you wasted reading it.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Too Much Pop Culture

Holy Shit, I just realized that I have been watching too much TV and that it is definitely time to start studying for finals.

I was watching The Simpsons. And I heard a line. I wish typing could show you how I interpreted this, but I will do my best.

Kent Brockman: "Three M and M and M have merged to form, get this, Ultradyne Systems!"

What did I think when I heard this? How the hell can a company (3M) merge with a person (Eminem). He did not incorporate himself!

Then . . . the opposite of the Eureka moment. Eureka is when you realize that you are a genius. What I just experienced is the realization that I am a buffoon.

That's it. I need to go hang myself.

Finals Rule #2

Under Your Breath during an Exam is the Same as a Scream

Don't be the guy that talks to himself during the exam.

This is quite possibly the most annoying thing ever, especially during a closed book exam. Sure you can never tell exactly what he is saying to himself, because he keeps it somewhat under his breath, but you can still hear the "Mmmrrrrmmmm, MMrrrmshavmm, HHHHmmmgickm, mmm, Hmmmm."

The corollary to this is the "Sighing Guy." This is the person who needs to let out a deep breath every two minutes to assure the other test takers that he is still alive. You are cruising along when all of sudden you hear, "UUUHHHHHH--AHHHHHHHH." Thanks fucker, it is nice to know that the light bulb went off for you.

During the exam, just keep your noise level to a minimum at all times. The clacking of the keyboard is fine, if you are one of those that can take exams on a laptop, but other than that, be silent dammit.

Finals' Rule #1

We are starting a new feature here at Law School Rules. Namely, Finals' Rules. What is acceptable and what isn't? The tendencies of finals behavior could fill a book, so for this week and next week, I am going to try to crank out at least four Finals rules, and some other special treats. Without further ado, Finals Rule #1

Outlines Are For Sharing, Not For Hoarding

Outlines are a funny thing, some people go through the entire semester outlining as they go along, others outline only at the end, and some just borrow outlines.

Personally, I take the middle road. I combine all my briefs and notes into a final outline. This method works best because I have the rule, the illustration, and it is surrounded by like situations. Some try to make outlines consisting only of Rules, which makes it hard for them to differentiate situations on the exam.

That is why I go with the examples. So what does this have to do with the rule? Most people who outline as the semester goes on, end up with only the rules, and no fact differentiation. These are the people who will most likely let you borrow their outline. The problem is that they do not realize that these outlines suck. If you have nothing better, than procure an outline from the person who has been taking notes in outline format all semester.

However, there is the percentage that outline at the end, say the last week of classes or immediately before the exam. In general, these are the outlines you want. They have been through the semester of classes, and have been able to see through the mounds of irrelevant bullshit while composing their outline. The problem is that the outline is probably not completed until a day or so before the exam. Since actually making the outline is 50% of the studying, the person who borrows this outline is at a severe disadvantage. You only have a day to read it, and must make do as best as possible.

That leaves the third option. The person who took the class last year that still has their outline. Outlines are really the only reason to make friends with those in a year higher than you. They know this, so are always wary of noobs coming up to talk to them. Therefor,e you have to charm them, get inside the circle, before they will give up their outline.

After all, anyone who is eager to let you borrow their outline, probably ended up with a D in the class, and he would love nothing better than to see you fail.

But the fact of the matter is, the person who borrows the outline will probably never do better than the person who composed the outline, unless through a twist of fate they got stuck at a fourth tier school when they should be in the top 100, at least. However, those situations are rare. Sure Law School is hyper competitive, or at least it should be, but feel free to give out your outline. If it is really that good, you will kick everyone else's ass on the exam anyway.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

PC Casebooks

What it says in the casebook: "UBS learned from the donor's physician that the donor [was in a high risk group for AIDS]"

What the actual case says, "UBS learned from the donor's physician that the donor pursued a 'gay lifestyle.'"

I mean seriously, is that big deal? Did they really need to redact that? I know that society did not have the most PC attitude about AIDS in 1985, but a lot of times caselaw is a refelction on the times. Besides, we are in law school, we should be able to sort this shit out for ourselves.

Temping, Sideswipes, and Crooked Tow Truck Drivers Part #5

Read Parts 1, 2, 3, and 4. Thank you. Please continue at your leisure.

I woke the next day with my hip throbbing. It was Saturday, so I did not have to go to work, and instead spent the day laying on the couch trying to figure out four things.

1. Where was I going to get a new car. I had almost no money, so buying a car really was not an option (at least that is what I thought at the time). I began planning out how to convince my mom to buy a new car so that I could have her old one. I was fairly certain that my car was totaled.

2. What to do with my insurance company. I had never been in accident before, at least that the cops knew about, so I figured I would have to call them up and give them my version of the events. Since I knew that it was not my fault, I was also unsure how to go about getting money for P.O.S. car and the hospital bill.

3. Where the hell my P.O.S. actually was. The last I saw it, it was sitting next to a cornfield, twenty feet from the road, completely undriveable. I assumed that the city would have it towed, I just did not know where.

4. How much my hip would hurt tomorrow.

I figured the best place to start was with my parents. I knew my mom had been thinking about getting a new car, and I used this to influence her to buy one. Don't feel bad for her, she ended up with an Infiniti, while I got her seven year old Mercury Grand Marquis. It actually did not happen quite that fast. She car-shopped for a week, and I ended up driving my Grandma's Buick for a week. She really did not need it that badly, especially since, much to the chagrin of myself and older sisters, she had given it to my little sister last Christmas. My little sister could live without her car for week, after all it was given to her, while my senior year I had to buy my own car, for $3,000. A car which was now destroyed and in an undisclosed location. That thing gave me five years. I still miss it.

So having secured wheels for the next week, I moved onto the Insurance company. I called them up told them what happened, and they informed me that they would be taking care of my ambulance and hospital bills. There are some benefits of staying on your parent's insurance, and this was certainly one of them. I breathed a sigh of relief, ecstatic that I would not be responsible for the $2,000 in hospital bills. I then asked them about getting my money and they said they would investigate. I told them to take care of this for me, because I did not know what I needed to do to get paid. I am not trying to sound like a greedy opportunistic fuck, but cash supply was dangerously low, and a few extra bucks would help me out. I figured I could really use an extra $500.

Having put the insurance company machine to work, I went about calling the Police Department to let me know where my car was. They informed, and a couple days later, I went over there to clean out my car. I have to say, this was a pleasant experience. After taking some pictures for my insurance company, I cleaned it out, even took off the license plates. I tried hard not to cry, and petted my car a couple times. The final step of the gutting process was to rip out the CD player that I had gotten for my High School graduation (god bless that CD player, got me through countless long road trips). The only problem was, I had no clue how to take it out. I am not a car guy, so I looked at it, with a flat-head screw driver in my hand trying to figure out where to stake it first.

Luckily, a couple of bored tow-truck drivers came by and asked if I needed help. I said that I certainly did. The first one attacked my car's dash as though it was his cheating ex-wife. He broke shit, flipped out, and finangled the radio dock until it came out, unharmed. He had less of an idea of what to do than I did, but he had the confidence to attack. So the two tow guys got me my radio. I felt bad because I had no cash on me, and I figured they had only done that for a tip. Oh well, they would fuck me soon enough.

Ahhh, yes, before I forget, I should talk about my hip. It was quite painful for a few days, then subsided. However, I was left with a giant black bruise. The lighting is not great in this picture, but you can get the idea.

It was about the size of my hand. This happened near the end of October, and when I saw a friend of mine at Thanksgiving, it had turn a sickly shade of yellow. He told me it made him want to vomit. That pleased me.

So about a week and a half later, I finally went to bail out my car. I did not realize that the tab had been running. I figured I would head over there, pay the money, and call a tow truck. When I got there, they told me it would cost $860 for them to release my car. That's right. Eight-Hundred Sixty mother-fucking dollars. Apparently, the tab was $80 a day, plus $125 for the tow. Absolutely ridiculously. Then they told me that they only accepted cash. Shit, that would pretty much wipe out my savings. So I went to the bank to get the cash, and of course, it was a fucking bank holiday. I had to take a day off of work the next day, (because my working hours conflicted with the hours of the tow place), and I tried to withdraw $860 dollars. Well, apparently you need a check to do this with the bank, so I had to head back home and back to the bank. So frustrating.

With Eight One-Hundred bills resting comfortably in my pocket I headed back to the tow place. I entered the office, and was ready to tender payment, when the owner said, "Aww, shit, you don't have that fucking much, just pay for the tow and I will dispose of the car." Hmmm...had I been a wiser man I would have asked how much he was going to get for my cars parts, but I didn't, paid the $125, left with 7 One-Hundred dollar bills in my pocket, thanked my lucky starts, and wept over the loss of my oldest friend.

So they were not exactly crooked, but it seemed like it at the time, gouging me for all that money, but whatever. Everything turned out nearly fine in the end.

My assailant's insurance company ended up paying me $2,000 for my car. I had paid $3,000 cash for this car five years ago. It had 230,000 miles on it. And I got $2,000. I was ecstatic. It finally looked things were turning around for me.

They weren't. I pretty much hated everyone I worked with at my temp job, so during lunch breaks I would sit in my car and chain smoke while listening to sports talk radio. One random day, I decided to go out an buy lunch. Usually, the thought of working this job made me want to vomit, so I never ate lunch, but things were different that day, and I really wanted a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger. I headed out, and then the car broke. Stopped, shut off, and the steering wheel locked. I was able to guide the car into a parking spot at some carpet store. I had no clue what the problem was. I opened the hood, saw nothing that made sense, and decided to walk back to work. I had not cell phone with me, and even if I did, I did not know the number of the place I worked at. I walked back in, 45 minutes (it was a long walk), and went back to work. I did not tell anyone I missed a bit of work, and no one seemed to notice, so I carried on.

Since I hated everyone, after work I had to walk back to my car, which took an hour or so. Once there, I called a tow truck. God bless AAA, as I got the 40 miles back to my parents house free. And, for the second time in a month, I was car-less.

Thanks to the $2,000 from the insurance company, I was able to buy a nice used car (one-year old) and things carried on. Shortly thereafter, I went back to work at the place I worked before taking on the summer job for $4 an hour more.

So that is the end. I suppose now is a good time to reflect on what I learned.

1. Getting hit by a car sucks.

That's about it. However, this whole experience was pretty much the low point in my life. There was some other shit going on at that time that I have not included, but I was more depressed at that time in my life than any other. There was so much uncertainty and so much not knowing where I was going, what I was doing, or who I was. While I had decided to go to Law School in April, before this mess occurred, this mess solidified it. Not that I was going to Law School, but I was going to excel. I can deal with the unhappiness, I figure that that is a small price to pay for certainty and money.

Temping, Sideswipes, and Crooked Tow Truck Drivers Part #4

This is the Part four of a five part story. Read 1, 2, and 3 by clicking on the number.

I wish I could describe what it is like riding in an ambulance, but I do not think I can. I was strapped onto a board. The ambulance's shocks were shot. The only thing I can think to compare it to is when I played hockey. For the first couple of years I wore socks. Then I switched to not wearing socks. Without socks, you can actually feel the ice. The ambulance ride was like that. I could every single imperfection in the road. Everytime the ambulance veered off of the grooves that had been developed in the road I felt it. Every crack that had been filled in with tar, I felt. It was brutal. After two minutes, I immediately regretted taking an ambulance to the hospital. The trip took fifteen minutes, and for the second time in my life, I was admitted into a hospital. The first time was the day I was born, and this just happened to be the same hospital. Talk about coming full circle.

There is nothing exciting about being admitted to the hospital, except that they told me several times they did not want to see my insurance because I had come in by ambulance, and by law, they have to heal me regardless of insurance. This was cool, because I had no insurance. So they tossed me on a bed, and a nurse came by asking me where it hurt. She was not very attractive, so refrained from attempting to get a subtle hand job. I told her my hip hurt, and she prodded a bit, while asking if I was healthy. True to my honesty policy, I told her I did not have a healthy lifestyle. I told her about my love affair with sodium, cigarettes and beer. She gave me the eye, that I suppose other people would take as "You seriously need to re-evaluate your lifestyle." That was lost on me. I am incorrigible.

Then, I was rolled down to the X-Raying room so they could see if I broke my pelvis. The nurses were very respectful, turning away when I pulled down my pants, though I tried to get them to sneak a peek at my package. My package is not that impressive but I figured some witty banter would get them to look. I guess that my lines were all tired, so they ignored my advances (this was before I saw the Viva La Bam episode where you could see his junk in the X-Ray. At this time, I had no clue what came through, I figured it would just be my bones).

After the X-Rays, I was taken back down to my room. The only thing I really remember about my room, was that the person in the closed off section next to me was a hypochondriac. The staff was telling her that there were no problems at this time, but if such and such happened she should come back. They talked to her like they knew her, and like she had been in many times before.

Eventually the doctor came in to see me. He said that he was going to look at my X-Rays. I said thanks, let me know if you find anything. He left, and this was the time I realized I would need a ride home from the hospital. I reached into my left pocket to pull out my cell phone, and when I pulled it out, I saw that it had been crushed. It had taken the brunt of the impact of the crash, and the crystal face had been shattered. Remember when your calculator broke and the stuff inside piled up in the corner? My phone was like that. I could turn it on, but could see nothing. It even made the noise when I turned it on, but it was really worthless. I would not be making anymore calls from that phone.

The doc came back and told me that nothing was broken and gave some pain pill prescription. I asked how to dial out on the phone. He said dial eight and left. I called my parents on the phone, and thankfully my dad answered. Remember, my parents were hosting a party that night. I told my dad that I had gotten into a car accident and was at [this] hospital. He said, Ok, and he would be right there.

It was nearly 11 at that time, so there was no valid reason for my Dad leaving the party. He told me that he told my Mom, I will be right back, and left it at that. It is amazing what a trustworthy relationship allows you to do.

So my pop came and picked me up, discharged me from the hospital and we headed back. At first, the people at the party were shocked to see me, but after explaining what happened, they understood, and all agreed that I needed a drink. I agreed and had several beers over the next couple of hours.

Thankfully, I did not have to drive home, because my sister, the cheerleading coach, was also my roommate. She drove me back home, and I passed out, not wanting to know what the next couple of days would bring.

To be continued . . .

Saturday, April 15, 2006

Temping, Sideswipes, and Crooked Tow Truck Drivers Part #3

I will not restate the facts from Part #1 and Part #2, so if you have not read them yet, please do before continuing.

OK, are you ready? You better be, because this is going to be like a hydrant in a NY summer.

I left the football game a little after nine. It was a short easy trek back to my apartment, and at this time of night, it would take twenty minutes if I was lucky. However, on this night I was unlucky and did not get back home for seven hours.

As I mentioned, it was raining, and had been steadily all night, but it never downpoured, it was more of that depressing light-but-constant rain that just refuses to quit. This is what I drove home in, while I was tired beyond belief. Taking the normal route home, I got onto the state route with a speed limit of 55, where there was two lanes in each direction. This was not some country road (more like the gateway between to suburbs). I was cruising along, going the speed limit, when I approached an intersection. The car in front of me got into the left turn lane as the light turned yellow. Considering the conditions, I figured the best bet was to hit the gas and head through the intersection, after all I had plenty of time.

The woman in the Cadillac heading in the other direction and making a left turn decided that I did not have enough time. This miscommunication caused her to turn left through my lane as I went through the intersection. Considering that I was going 55 and she was going 2, I would have though that she would realize her mistake, in that I was going through a yellow light during the rain no less, and yield to me, as is the law. I could not have been more wrong.

[brief note here, My right headlight was busted, but at that this time I think it was working. What happened was I pulled into a car and shattered the fixture about two years before this happened. I put a sheet of translucent Teflon over the gaping hole, which allowed for the light to shine through, though much dimmer than normal. This is relevant because the good light may have been obstructed by the car heading my direction that was in the left turn lane, leaving only the busted light exposed to traffic in the other direction. Either way, the light was visible and the Caddy driver never mentioned it, so neither did I.]

The driver of the Cadillac (it was a 2004) decided to ignore my right of way, and the dangerous conditions and proceeded to make her left turn. Unfortunately, her left turn was right into the driver side door of my car. Not really into the driver side door; she hit me about two feet ahead of the door. I heard the tearing of metal and the shattering of plastic while I thought "is this bitch crazy?" She must have been, because after the initial hit, her car kept moving forward, so she must have kept her foot on the gas because her car kept tearing into mine. Her car kept moving forward, and smashed into the driver's side door of my car. This is where I was sitting, and I can tell you, that getting hit by a car hurts like a son of a bitch. But that is nothing compared to getting flipped around.

I really believe that she may not have kept her foot on the gas, but the fact that my car was moving so fast made any reaction difficult, so after her car severely scraped my door, it continued onto the back seat doors of my four-door. There was a serious discrepancy in the indent in the drivers side door and the back-seat passenger door. The back door indents at least five inches more. I attribute this to the fact that my hip prevented the drivers side door from indenting more (see the next post for the battle wound). Physics was controlling the whole situation, and they did not relent. After she tore through my back-door, there was nothing left to destroy, so my car went into a 360.

It is just like a pinwheel. She hit me, ran out of things to hit, and thus sent me into a tailspin. I went into the spin, and lost all recollection. There is the saying that when you get into a car accident, everything happens in slow motion. I remember nothing in slow motion. Everything is fast and a blur of noise, pain and spinning. However, I do not remember the entire spin, which is why I think I hit my head on the window and shattered it (though there was no damage to my head afterwards). Regardless, what happened after she started to spin me was I did a 360 in the intersection, and then flew off the road. Literally flew, there was a five foot drop due to the ditch at the side of the road. The landing blew out all of my tires (the Dukes of Hazard is BS). I continued to roll for another forty feet, about three feet from ending up in a corn field. I probably only blacked out for a second, but based on the physical evidence this is what happened.

The first thing I did was turn off my car. I will be damned if I am going to die in some retarded explosion. Then I wiggled my toes, and once I was confident I had feeling in all my extremities I took a look around. The windshield was cracked, and the two windows on the driver's side were gone. I was a little dazed, thinking "holy shit, am I dead?" My question was answered when a Good Samaritan ran up to my car and asked me if I was ok. I replied I was, and he ensured that I had not suffered paralysis before stating that he was running to the gas station across the street to call the cops. He also told me not to move. I sat there for two minutes not moving before I realized that I was not seriously hurt. It was at that point that I made sure my iPod was safe. I had it stowed in the center console of my car, and was relieved to see that it had survived. I put it in my pocket. The driver's side door was completely busted and would not open, so I shuffled over to the passenger door and got out. I immediately regretted it. I started shaking like a leaf during a hurricane.

I took some carefully calculated steps to survey the damage done to my car, when the bitch driving the Cadillac came up to me and started yelling at me. She said that I ran a red light. I just said something like, "well let's just wait til the cops show up." I knew I did not run a red light, though it may have been close, I was hoping a witness would corroborate my story to the cops. And one did. When the cops showed up, they started by interviewing me, and I told them that I was heading through a yellow light. I made no mention of the fact that I had been up since 3 am, since it was now 10 pm. The witness came up to me while I was talking to the cops and said he was amazed that my car did not flip over when I went off the road. This did not make me feel better. In fact, I have no idea to this day what the witness said to the cops. He was behind the bitch that turned into me, so he had a great view of what happened. All I heard was "I don't think she saw him." That was enough for me.

After the interviews were complete, the cops asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital. I said I thought that might be a good idea, considering my left hip was killing me. The last thing I needed was a broken pelvis, especially considering I had no health insurance. If I could get the bitch to pay for it I figured it would be worth it. So I said I wanted to go to the hospital. An ambulance was called and they strapped me down to a board and drove me to the hospital.

The immaculate conclusion. Part 4 coming soon . . .

Friday, April 14, 2006

Fun Times At Undergrad U

There was only one circumstance where my two roommates in college ever got mad at me. I actually had three roommates from sophomore to senior year, but two were constant, the third was rotating. My roomies were pretty easy going guys, hell the time I hitch-hiked and they had no clue where I was they did not get mad (we were at a place at least 30 miles from home when I decided to thumb it, without telling them, but that is a story for another day). However, I had an annoying drunken habit that pissed them off.

I did not break shit, or scream at the top of my lungs, or do anything that destructive. No, sometimes when I was hammered, I would stop at the UDF on the way home and pick up some White Cheddar Popcorn. That shit is so good. I cannot describe how much I love it. For me, that is my drunken food.

The only problem is that when I am drunk, I try to shovel massive handfuls of this popcorn into my mouth, and my mouth just isn't big enough. Therefore, a lot of it falls to the floor.

After a night of eating popcorn at 4 am, I would get up the next day and see the living room covered with tiny white portions of white cheddar popcorn. It was like the carpet had dandruff. And it was not confined to a single patch on the carpet, it was all over the place. All over the three cushions of both couches, the entire floor, by the N64 and Playstation, on the coffee table, under the coffee table, pretty much everywhere.

It was so widespread a simple vacuuming would not clean it up. It had to be an all out, clean the fucking living room to get all the kernel shavings cleaned up. Yeah it was disgusting, the only reason I never changed was that when the deed was done I was too drunk to care and when I was called out on it I was too hungover to care.

But all things considered, this was my only really bad habit. Each roommate had their own bad habit, whether it was smoking pot, monopolizing the TV with chick flicks, or being a drunken retard, so they just had to deal with my drunken love affair with white cheddar popcorn.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Ostracizing Myself, One Step At A Time

To understand this post, I need to put it in context. One of my classes is filled with a bunch of whiners. OK, so they are in all my classes, but the Prof. is more accessible than most, so people think a lot of whining can get him to change his mind. And it worked. From the start of the semester, he was adamant that the final would be closed book. This did not bother me in the slightest, I mean, you know the circumstances and you adjust. I was not crazy about memorizing several factors for several different tests, but you do what you have to.

About a month ago, the whining began. People would ask questions in class, and end the question with, "I don't get how we are supposed to be able to apply this statute if it is closed book." After a couple weeks of this the Prof. made the biggest mistake possible. He relented, but not fully. I suppose his downfall was the second time he said, "I am not sure about that, that is one of the things I always look up in the statute." He pretty much hung himself out to dry, "If you use the statute why can't we?" So he decided he would provide the statutes along the exam.

The circumstances changed, so I adjusted. I did not change my day-to-day routine, but knowing that the statutes would be provided did give slight effect to my study habits. I started listing the statute section in my notes, since it became obvious that with the statute provided, the Prof. would expect the statute with the answer.

However, the whining did not end. The 10 people that actually talk in class, moved on to complaining about how the exam was not open book. It was highly annoying, but thankfully, I had Free Cell to distract me. Then last week, the Prof. announced that it would indeed be open book and open notes. He justified it by saying that another Prof. had told him something which he found to be pertinent and insightful, and overruled his line of thinking. The entire class breathed a sigh of relief, except for me, as I was locked into an intense game of Rong.

I really have no preference as to whether the exam is open or closed book. There are benefits and drawbacks to each. The one thing I do know for sure is that the preparation for an open book exam is more helpful than actually having the materials in the exam with you. Open note during the exam is good because you can double check your line of thinking and it is bad because you cannot rely on the notes, and if you do, you will run out of time.

Regardless, I thought that this was the end of the whining. They got their open notes, what more could they want? Turns out, they expect the world to bend to their whim.

To put the remainder of this post in context, there is a good chance that we will not cover in class all the material that we are responsible for. The Prof. graciously offered to hold two additional classes, the week before finals, one to cover the remaining material and one as a review session. I thought this was a great idea for several reasons. First, even though I play a lot of standard MS offered games in class, I usually end up with about a page and half of typed notes which I use to supplement my briefs. After all, you never know when the Prof. is going to comment on something that is not clear from the case. Also, I never take notes on the note material or introduction sections, so if the Prof. mentions something from there in class, I throw it in my notes, and mentally mark that as something I need to know. If the Prof. does not address something in the note material, I shit out all that information at the earliest possible opportunity.

So faced with the possibility of having to know material that would not be covered in class, someone posted a message similar to this on the class message board (it was a little more wordy, but this is how I interpreted it):

"Thanks for offering extra classes, but I think that situation in which they are offered the week before finals is not conducive to educating us on the material."

A few people posted offering their support for his position. As a matter of law, I found this position to be ridiculous. If the Prof. is offering to hold additional classes, who am I to stand in his way? If the Prof. is willing to hold a review session, why would I stand in his way? At first blush, I figured this post was saying that we did not need the extra classes. After thinking about it for a minute, I thought that maybe he was asking the Prof. to make us not responsible for the material we would not cover in class. I dismissed this though, after all, how much blood can you get from a stone? And, was it really necessary to post this, after all, if someone said, "Here is ten dollars," I would take it.

I reasoned that my original impression was the correct one, and posted this (paraphrased):

"If we will be responsible for all of this material, I think that class sessions would be beneficial. For those that think it is too much work to prepare for an additional two classes, there is an easy way to rectify this, by holding the extra classes after the last originally scheduled class."

Based on the previous post, I thought that this was a well-reasoned response. Turns out, I was wrong. The original poster responded by saying:

"I was hoping to convince the Prof. to take the uncovered material off the exam. After all, I will read the remainder anyway because I am interested in it."

A few other people typed out their agreement with him, and I was left as the lone ranger, standing for my belief that the Prof. should make us responsible for whatever he wants to make us responsible for. So even though I wanted to rip into this guy for whining his ass off, and those that responded to him, I held my tongue, compromised my beliefs, and posted a generic response about not understanding his intent, even though I did, but dismissed it because it was stupid to post something like that on the class message board.

Anyway, the Prof. said that he would not reduce the amount of material we were responsible for, and I am confident that I will blow everyone away on the exam. As for my Reputation, fuck that, hopefully I will transfer to a good school over the summer.

Monday, April 10, 2006


It is 1 am on Sunday. I have not done my homework for tomorrow. I am watching Adult Swim. I have to give an oral argument tomorrow at 10:30. I have not prepared. I have to go to Contracts at 8:30 am tomorrow. I hate attendance policies. I am about 60 pages behind on my IP homework. There is a regular IP class and a make-up IP class tomorrow. Attendance is not mandatory, but I will go anyway. Yet, here I sit, watching Adult Swim, drinking Bud Light.

It was worth it. A line in Mission Hill summed up my feelings on law school clubs.

"I only join clubs that rent out pornographic videotapes."

That is why I am not in the Federalist Society, Entertainment Law Society, or Association of Law Students Who Only Joined This Gay Ass Club Becuase They Offered Free Food And It Looks Good On A Resume.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Making My Point, Orally

I am a pretty introverted guy, so people are genuinely surprised when I display my prodigious public speaking ability. There is only one caveat, I have to be prepared. The oral argument that I have to give next week a merger of my strengths and weaknesses.


Two stories here. The first is from high school. I took a speech class, where we had to give umm...speeches (in case that was not obvious). One speech in particular was a "How To...." speech, explaining the process of something. For lack of anything better, I decided to do, "How To Stop A Nose Bleed." I am a nerd, so I used to get bloody noses pretty regularly, but unlike the acne, once I was out of my teenage years, the bloody noses waned (thank you humidifier, Thank you, THAAAANK YOOUUU). Anyway, staying on topic, I used a couple props in my speech, including an oversize cut out of a nose, to demonstrate where to pinch to stop the blood flow. This was all well and good, and got a couple of chuckles, but the final part had everyone rolling in the aisles from laughter. In order to prevent nose bleeds, it is a good idea to rub some vaseline inside the nostril, and to demonstrate this, I had a cut out of a hand, which when applied to the nose, looked like the hand was knuckle deep digging for gold. Pure comedy genius.

It Looked Something Like This:

The second story is from college, where I had to give a speech as though it were an interview for my dream job. My dream job; the goal judge at a hockey game, the guy who sits behind the net, and pushes a button to turn on the red light when he thinks a goal is scored. I got off to a rocky start in this one, my first joke bombed (crickets) and I had a video tape to display my talents (a tape of a goal from an NHL game the previous night), which I was going to pause, but there was no pause button on the VCR (what the fuck is that cheap ass undergrad?). I recovered from these to missteps, and continued. In order to show my excellent button pushing skills, I had a handheld Simon. It was set on the easiest level (maybe four rounds), and once I finished without messing up, I explained that my button pressing skills were great because I was able to beat Simon. That one killed.

The common thread here, preparation. As long as I know what I am going to say, I do fine. (I got extra credit on both for hilarity. I also gave a Best Man Toast and got some women to cry, not from funniness or sadness, but from whatever is that girls cry about when they are not laughing or sad.)


This is another high school story, and unfortunately, I don't think that I have evolved much as a person since then. At the end of the year hockey banquet, I was asked to present the Coach with a gift certificate for Olive Garden or some crappy franchised restaurant. I did so, and then one of the jackals on my team yelled out, "Say a few words about the Coach." This was seconded, thirded, then there was a round of clapping. The room suddenly extended as far as the eye could see, filled with the cheering masses, and the Sahara Desert was somehow transported into my mouth. My shoes were soon overflowing with sweat, and with a little soap I could have washed a bus with the water accumulating on my hands. Yeah, I froze up. I mumbled something like "he was good," and thankfully, another player up there with me, took over.

So I am not that good at the off-the-cuff, spontaneous stuff

The Oral Argument is the collision of these two worlds. I can prepare all I want, know all the arguments and cases; rules, rationales, holdings, and dicta, but I cannot predict every question that will be asked. I know I am going to get some damn question that I had never even considered, fumble through it, "umm..that is, know, umm...It's good," and completely lose all credibility.

So I am not going to be a litigator. Oh well, there are other ways to get rich.

Friday, April 07, 2006

So It Has Come To This, And It Almost Ended Like That

If you are a regular reader, and let's face it, a one-armed man could count my regular readers on his stump, you know my disdain for Temp Agencies. I met with two today, even skipped a class for it. The benefit of this was that I did no homework last night and got drunk, but the fact of the matter is, I went to a Temp Agency, and am relying on them to get me a job.

So how did it come to this? You may recall my post about how finding a job as a 1L is an exercise in futility. This has proved to be true. My class rank got me several interviews, and while I generally suck at interviews, I did pretty well in a couple of them. However, these positions are so highly sought after, that there is always going to be someone a little bit better from a law school that is a little bit better. So, if you happen to go to a school in the top 10, then fuck you, I hate you, and what is your school's transfer policy?

I decided that I want to stay in my Law School's town this summer, which can only be accomplished by getting a job. I figured a temp job was a good place to start, hence I contacted the temp agencies. This is the standard email I sent out to the temp agencies:

Dear [TempAgency] Representative--
My name is [Lawschoolrules]. I have a particular situation, and I was hoping you could be of assistance. I am currently a Law Student at [Law School], and will be completing my first year in about a month. I would like to stay in [Anytown] over the summer, and am looking for employment in the near-[Anytown] area from approximately May 15 to August 15. I would prefer a pay rate of about $12/hour or higher.
I have attached a resume for your review. I graduated from [Undergrad University] in 2003, with a double major in Accounting and Finance. In 2004 and 2005 I was a contract employee at [A Telecomm] in the finance department, researching the corporate structure of multi-national corporations. Additionally, [Telecomm] elevated me to a position where I was responsible for the work product of 20 other contractors. I was given full-time responsibilities, even though I was a contract employee. At [Law School] I have a [Random Number]/4.0 GPA. I can pick up processes and procedures very quickly, and am open to any type of employment.
I am trying to secure a summer position within the next two weeks so that I can also secure housing. I realize that this is a relatively short turn around time, which is why I am writing this e-mail. If you think that there is any chance that you can help me, please let me know. I would be happy to set-up a meeting time with you sometime this week to see if my goals conform to the opportunities that you have available. I can be reached at [Cell # which has an area code several hundred miles away].
Thank you.

I sent this out to all of the temp agencies in the area, and got one response. I set-up the meeting, and went into talk with them today. Of course, it was not really a talk, more like an hour of skills tests. There were five parts to the test, Accounting, Finance, Data Entry, Numeric Data Entry, and Excel. Everything I know about Acc and Fin came from undergrad, which I finished nearly three years ago (thought I worked in the finance department at Telecomm, it was not really traditional finance work). I did pretty well on the Accounting section, bombed the Finance section (what the hell is duration again), did decently on the data entry sections (I had 94% accuracy in the alpha-numeric section, but that was because I kept hitting the spacebar after each line, even though it automatically shifted to the next line), and kicked major ass on the Excel test.

Regardless, I crushed the national average on every test, except for the alpha data entry test (I have a laptop, and have not used a number pad in 9 months, likewise, the regular keyboard made my typing slower because I am used to the scrunched up keyboard of the laptop). So I talked with the staffing agent, told them what I wanted, and when I wanted it, and they said they would do what they could. Complete reaffirmation of my belief that temp agencies are worthless. The optimist in me says to give them a chance though, so let's see what happens (and there is still an outside shot that I could end up with a summer associate job, the firm I interviewed with last week will not complete their interview rounds until next week, but I am not holding my breath [Edit: one day after the post, I got the rejection letter]).

So after I left, I headed out to the parking garage. It was raining. This did not please me or my suit, so I stayed as close as I could to the buildings (yes, I wore a suit to my Temp Agency meeting, just to show that I was serious). To get to the garage I had to cross a street. It was not that busy, so I waited, in the rain, until there was a pause in the traffic.

The break came, and I headed across the street. At the same time I entered the street, half a block down a truck made a left turn onto the street (from a one-way onto a one-way). I always thought that there was a jaywalking code. If you jaywalk, the car you are cutting in front of can slow down just enough to miss the jaywalker, while providing the proper buffer zone of 1-2 seconds. Apparently this is not the rule. I walked across the street, and noticed that at my current pace, I was bound to be hit by the truck. Normally, I would carry on with my usual cadence, but the rain mixed with the scary looking truck caused me to jog the last half of the intersection.

I never jog, but thankfully I did so today. I made it across the street, and felt the truck catch the cuff of my pants. This dude did not slow down, ease off the accelerator, or brake in the face of a pedestrian jaywalking. The fucker gunned it. What a fucking ass. I almost wish that I had not jogged, and kept on walking, because I could have sued his ass, and assuming that the injuries were sufficient enough, I could prove that my lost wages were $100,000 a year.

Needless to say, this will be my last experience with Temp agencies. A job is not worth dying for (unless it is a heart attack caused by numerous 90 hour work weeks while trying to make partner).

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Rule #3

No One Cares If You Sound Like An Idiot When A Prof. Calls On You

As is the custom with Law School, the students are expected to prepare and brief cases before class, and then the Prof. will test the student's knowledge on the case. I believe that this is called The Socratic Method, but the basic purpose is for students to learn how to read and analyze cases. A secondary purpose is that the knowledge sticks with you longer than if it was rote lecture. Don't believe me, go back and look at the first case you read this semester, once you see the name you will remember the basic facts, rationale, holding, and most importantly, the one or two concepts that case was designed to illustrate. You may not completely understand it, but that is a different animal all together.

So this brings us to the thrust of the rule. For whatever reason, be it lack of understanding, lack of preparation, glossophobia, or underwear that's too tight, there will be a time when the Prof. calls on you and you struggle to get through a case. The awkward pauses will slowly build as you frantically try to teach yourself speed reading in 10 seconds. At this point there are two options. The first is to say "I don't know." This is for pussies. If you do not know how BS yet, this is the time to learn. Plus, Profs. are a vindictive bunch, and not only will this piss them off, there is a chance that the Prof will call on you in each of the next three or four classes.

So it is better to take the low road and make something up that sounds reasonably intelligent, or if that fails, just say something. I recall a class where I was called on to explain a case on the Statute of Frauds. When the Prof. asked me if I thought the decision was fair, I replied, "Well, that's the law." Surely that response falls about 120 IQ points short of genius, but at least it was something. The second time that Prof. called on me, it was for a stupid note case that I had only skimmed the night before. I sucked it up, and answered his questions, often wrongly, to the best of my ability and limited knowledge. But I got through it, and am a better person for it.

The fact of the matter is that your classmates don't care if you sound like a mental midget during one of these sessions. They know that it could of just as easily been them. So while they may snicker when you say that lost profits are a restitution measure of damages, it will all be forgotten when the Prof. moves onto his next victim.

And as is the case with all rules of law, there is an exception. The above only applies to when the Prof. cold calls on you. If you raise your hand and consistently say retarded things, your classmates will remember, to the point that as soon as you raise your hand, everyone will start to laugh and the Prof. will roll his eyes. The key word there is consistently, so if you normally have cognizant things to say, no one will mind your brain-fart every now and then.

So when the Prof. calls on you and you are ill-prepared, take a deep breath, silently quote some Shakespeare ("Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more"), and start talking like no one is listening, because no one will care if you something stupid. Eventually, the Prof. will correct you.

Saturday, April 01, 2006

Temping, Sideswipes, and Crooked Tow Truck Drivers Part #2

In Part #1 I discussed where I was leading up to the month of November 2004, this is the rest of the story:

As I mentioned in Part #1, I had to work Saturdays. This did not apply to the first two weeks of work when I was "training" (Employees at the GAP spend more time learning how to fold sweaters). For those two weeks it was the regular 4:30 to 1, Monday to Friday. After I finished my two weeks of training I was ready to crash for 15 hours. However, this was not going to happen. My little sister is a cheerleader for her (our) high school, and that Friday was Senior Night. How could I not attend a high school football game when they would be honoring my little sister (who was a Senior, if that is not obvious). Horribly sleep deprived (I know I said that the end of PTI meant bedtime, which it did, but I still did not regularly fall asleep until midnight) and desperate for the warmth that only my comforter can provide, I headed out to the game against my better judgment (not really, I promised her I would be there, and remember my policy about not lying).

The game kicked off around 7, so I was there around 6 because the Seniors walk out with their parents before the game. I immediately headed over to the concession stand, and ordered two Cokes (this was before I knew the power of Red Bull, not that they had it, but I would have picked some up on the way). I found my parents and my little sis' standing in line waiting for their name to be called out over the loudspeaker, and waved. They immediately forced me to take pictures. I of course obliged. I have no problems with pictures, so long as I do not have to be in them. My mother told me where they were sitting and I headed over there, and took a seat, by myself (this is important).

So as the Seniors were called out, and they marched down the track through the rain, I was sitting in the cheerleaders section. Not next to the cheerleaders section, I was in the cheerleaders section (if you are unfamiliar with this concept, just picture the band section as though all the band members were gone, but they left their tubas there, but instead of band members, it was cheerleaders). I was stepping on pom-poms. Yeah, I am sure that there are a lot of 24 year olds that sit in the high school cheerleaders section, yet there I was, feeling very pedophiliac. The freshman and sophomore cheerleaders were sitting two rows ahead of me, eyeing my suspiciously. My tired Coke-addled body (from the soft drink) broke out into a cold sweat. I could feel 15 fathers' eyes drilling into the back of my head, trying to figure out the best way to dispose of my body. This was not even a rock and a hard place, I was in a blender and it was only a matter of moments before someone hit the switch for puree.

Then I saw her. I caught her eye from across the screaming High School football fans. I frantically waved my arms, and mouthed as loud as possible, "I NEED YOU HERE RIGHT NOW!" She got the idea, and headed into the cheerleader section. She proceeded to make conversation with the freshman and sophomore cheerleaders, and most discretely, and immaculately, introduced me in passing as her younger brother. Yes, though my little sister was still out on the field being recognized for being a Senior, I was still able prevent a major ass-kicking. How so you ask? You may have noticed the word younger in the previous sentence. One of my older sisters was the High School Cheerleading Coach.

So she came up and saved me, and after the festivities were done, and the football game was ready to start, my parents joined me (So yes, my younger sister is a cheerleader, and my two older sisters, who are twins, were also cheerleaders, and yes that is my standard response when people ask me if my sisters are hot, so don't ask). The game was just that, high school football. I feel no allegiance to my High School, so I spent most of the time cursing myself for not bringing a flask, while at the same time realizing that I was tired as hell and had to drive a half an hour back to my place. A half an hour may not sound like that much, but when you can tell that your bones are tired, it is like driving cross-country. My parents spent most of the time finalizing plans for a Senior party that they were having at their house, with the senior girls and their parents.

When halftime rolled around, I realized that if it rained any harder I would be a danger on the road, so I decided to leave as soon as the half-time show was over. The rain canceled the half-time show, and this confused my overly tired brain to the point that I sat through the entire third quarter. Once I realized that the game was nearly over, I realized that my bed was anxiously awaiting me. I informed the pertinent people that I was leaving. I left a little after nine....

Ok, so I know that I promised that this part was the end of the story. Well, it is not. Also, this part of the story is really an anomaly because it contains none of the elements contained in the title of this post. Happy April Fools Day!!!!!!