Law School Rules

Moving

2008-08-28T16:59:00.003-05:00

I am an east coaster now. As such, I have plenty of bias. You can read all about it at my fancy new blogspot blog. It has a fancy latin name, which means instant credibility (why do all those judges use a dead language? To mask the weakness of their arguments of course). So visit the new blog, leave a comment, tell your friends, and send me lots of money to help me pay off my $130,000 law school debt.

Thanks for reading.

One Week Later

2008-08-05T15:16:00.002-05:00

I was heading into the City on Sunday night to go see a small show (i.e. not Lollapa-whatever), with a friend. We were taking I-88, and I was explaining to my friend how much all the construction on I-88 sucks because if I am good at anything, it is in pointing out the obvious. He replied to this by asking when the last time I was on I-88 was.

I drew a blank. Literally. I told him that I knew I had been on I-88 in the last week, but for about two minutes I could not remember what business I had attended to in the City.

It likely would have been longer had he not said, "Oh, the Bar Exam right?"

So my efforts at blocking out the entire bar exam experience have been quite successful.

****************

I tried reading after the bar exam. It may have been my choice of book, but nothing was sticking. I would read for ten minutes, then flip back a couple of pages, and it was like I was looking at the words for the first time. Horribly frustrating. To compensate, I picked up a young adult book and was able to read the entire thing, albiet in twice the amount of time it should have taken me.

I am not sure when I will be able to start reading again. Hopefully soon. I still have about two months to kill.

***************

Why waive Scott Eyre when you could have waived Bobby Howry?

***************

In ten days I will unofficially become a resident of Virginia. Weird.

***************

Law School is over. The bar exam is over (hopefully). Looks like that is about it for this blog . . .

Last Bar Exam Thought Ever (Knock on Wood)

2008-07-30T18:03:00.002-05:00

Done. Not much else to say. Pretty sure I passed, but it will take another few months to know for sure, and by then I will be working and in DC. So it would really suck to fail.

Pray for me.

Oddly enough, I got a summons for jury duty today. Weird.

Bar Exam Thought of the Day

2008-07-29T17:37:00.001-05:00

Finished day one. Lots to talk about, but I am as brain dead as you are. Therefore, I called in some favors, and Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog is available for free for another day.

Screw the cram session, relax, and watch an awesome musical.

Bar Exam Thoughts of the Day

2008-07-28T04:17:00.003-05:00

I have no interesting thoughts today. They are all law related.

But the next person that says "Good Luck" to me is going to get punched. I did not just spend the last two months [sometimes] busting my ass so that Luck would factor into it.

But it does.

[I just had a thought. With this whole pen and pencil thing, I am afraid the Bar Exam is going to end up like that test Will Smith took in Men in Black.

]

Bar Exam Thought of the Day

2008-07-27T09:44:00.001-05:00

It's only the rest of my life.

I always knew I was destined for Broadway. Failing may just be the push I need.

of course, I cannot sing, dance, act, direct, work lighting rigs, see color, act all gay, wear tight pants, jump, build things, do makeup or hair, have a creative thought, write, think outside the box, or juggle. Shit, lawyer is about the only job for which I am qualified.

Bar Exam Thought of the Day

2008-07-26T08:06:00.000-05:00

Re Handwriting: If my "u" looks like a "v" and my "c" looks like a "u" and my "r" looks like a "v" or "u" and my "e" looks like an archaic Alchemist symbol for sulfur, then whenever I write the word "occurrence" will the Bar Exam Grader constructively know that my answer stinks?

83 Hours . . .

2008-07-25T21:35:00.003-05:00

Alright, now I am starting to get stressed out. Usually I only get a little stressed out the night before the exam. But here it is, three evenings ahead, and I am not sure I can take it anymore.

All the professional attorneys that I have talked about the bar exam have all made a similar comment. Something like, "By the time you get around to taking it, you are so stressed out, that you do not even care if you pass it. You just want it done and over with."

I am starting to come around to that line of thinking. I really do not much care anymore. Sure there is still a lot of work to do (written, unconditional, promise to pay, order or bearer, a sum certain, of money, with no extraneous undertaking--Is that all the elements of negotiability? feel like I am missing one, and hence the problem (note: have not looked at commercial paper in at least five days)).

I think the persecuted crack smoker said it best, "I want my life back."

I have been doing a bunch of advanced questions on StudySmart in lots of 17. Current relevant percentages: Property: 73%.* Evidence: 40%. I get property. I like property. I like property because you read the question, figure out the answer, then look at the options and pick the one that conforms to the answer you already decided. Evidence (and Torts and K), you have to read the damn entire answer 90% of the time. Aww fuck it. "D" for esquire right?

In addition to the regular stress of the Test, others things weighing on my mind:

I had to go to the Wal-Mart today to get a new battery put in a watch. This is annoying for several reasons. First, I have not worn a watch in years. I do not even know the last time I wore one. So for the last couple of days I was wearing a watch that did not work, just so I could used to it. Annoyance. Second, I had planned on using a pocket watch for the exam, but because the bar examiners do not allow watches on the table (the constant looking down at a watch situated on my leg would look suspicious), I have to practice wearing a watch. Third, I swear I am not driving more until I have to, wait this should be next
I am not driving any more unless absolutely necessary. In the last couple of days I have either gotten stuck behind some slow ass dick, railroaded, or almost sideswiped by some ass who ran a stop sign. Fuck that. I am living off iced tea and butter for the next three days.
Conan was on vacation this week. How am I supposed to sleep if I cannot drift away to the smooth stylings of Conan jokes that I have not heard before? Fuck him.
I check to make sure that my pink voucher is sitting on the table where I left at least 20 times an hour.
I think I am up to about 2 1/2 packs a day. This is getting ridiculous. I am quitting within a month of the bar. For serious.
I waste too much time with stupid blog posts.

Alright, enough bitching.

And I just realized that it is Friday. So no daily show. I guess I should just study for another hour.

*seriously, how was I supposed to know that right of refusal is not subject to RAP when it was given to the first leasehold, even though the leaseholder subsequently assigned the K such that the right of refusal touched and concerned the land? Yeah, what I just wrote does not even make sense to me and I probably fucked up the law on that somehow, but just goes to show how fucked up that question was.

Bar Exam Thought of the Day

2008-07-25T01:23:00.000-05:00

Uhhh . . .

But the real hilarious part is that she has a website devoted to helping people pass the bar.

Bar Exam Thought of the Day

2008-07-24T02:56:00.000-05:00

Two unoriginal thoughts today (that is why there is two), blatantly stolen from the works of Joss Whedon.

Captain Hammer sings:

Don’t worry if it’s hard,
if you’re not a friggin' ‘tard you will prevail

Whistler says:

There are moments in your life that make you, that set the course of who you're gonna be. Sometimes they're little, subtle moments. Sometimes they're not. I'll show you what I mean . . .

. . .

Bottom line is, even if you see 'em coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does. So what are we, helpless? Puppets? No. The big moments are gonna come. You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are. You'll see what I mean.

Bar Exam Thought of the Day

2008-07-23T09:58:00.000-05:00

If this study makes you more confident about the Bar Exam, I have some bad news for you.

Just Call Me Doctor Claw

2008-07-22T23:06:00.004-05:00

I have spent the last few days doing a lot of writing. I had originally intended to do a full day of Exam Writing just like the real Bar exam (with the exception of three essays instead of an MPT, with 12 essay topics, it would have worked out well), but I decided that that idea was stupid. Not wholly stupid, but the reasons behind the decision were stupid. I was not doing it to test my knowledge, but rather to exercise my hand for the grueling six hours of writing.

I figured out a couple days ago that there was a better way to do my training; one that is conducive to learning (i.e. memorization). I decided to just re-write my notes. The lecture notes that is. But to make it feel like I was doing more than just re-writing my lecture notes, I pulled out the mini-review (literally) and the big outline, to cross check anything I was unsure about and find the random factoids (err, lawoids), that Kaufman neglected to mention because he was too concerned with spending 20 minutes on getting the correct exam answer for some question rather than an exhaustive survey of the law.*

This was a ridiculously long process. I started, I think on Friday (might have been Saturday, my short term memory is shot (because I have to remember all these rules and exceptions and exceptions to the exceptions)), and wrote for as long as I could. I think it was about eight hours. Then, the next day, I continued the process, but could barely write for five hours. Yeah, that was Saturday, because Sunday I took most of the day off to go buy a new computer (more on this at some point, I have a lot of bitching to do about my old computer). Sunday was not a total waste, because I outlined Family Law (such Fun! Wish I could do that again), even though my arm was still in pain and I could barely grip my Dr. Grip. (I had originally intended to use cheap pens, and by cheap I mean the box of 36 Papermates I bought at Office Max for $2.50 because I fully expect that is what will be given us for the bar exam, but that lasted about two hours. Fuck those pens, it is not just the fact that they are skinny, but also the shitty rollerball they have. A crappy pen requires more force against the paper, while my sweet Dr. Grip, despite its name, glides elegantly across the page, depositing the ideal amount of ink to form a letter with minimal effort. (not as great as a ceramic pen, but good enough that it does not bug me incessantly.))

So, to shorten this up, because yous probably have shit to do, the plan worked. I wrote for six hours today. There was not a lot of pain, just mostly a lingering a soreness, such that I am confident that I will have the ability to write for six hours without the pain bugging me.

Granted there is one problem. I decided to celebrate the finishing of the outline writing by drinking a Bud Light. However, my arm/hand is so exhausted that I could not twist off the top. I do not know if that is more pathetic or sad. At least my bottle opener still works. If I still cannot twist off a top by Sunday, I will be worried about arm fatigue.

But now I suppose I should start worrying about actually knowing the stuff that is going to be tested.

*Not a bad thing, just not how I would have taught it. I get a little leery about this approach because at least three times during BarBri, the instructor would say something like, "Then in February '07, they caught us off guard by including this fact which requires this analysis." BarBri is rightly reactionary, and they rightly focus the lectures on the most heavily tested areas (and previously tested areas), but I get all paranoid by these statements. It has gotten to the point that I am positive that there is going to be one question on the essay where I am just like, What the Fuck is that? Thankfully, I have come to grips with this, i.e. the fact there is going to be something on the exam where I have absolutely no clue what they want me to talk about. My plan is to take a deep breath, put on my bull shitting pants and start each line with these letters, no matter what:

W
H
A
T
T
H
E
F
U
C
K

Bar Exam Thought of the Day

2008-07-22T16:56:00.002-05:00

I wonder if I should fast on Monday, because I am going to be spending all day Tuesday pulling knowledge out of my ass and I do not want any shit to get in the way.

Dang

2008-07-21T23:01:00.004-05:00

Brand New is coming to Chicago just a couple days after the Bar Exam. Of course, by the time I found about it, the show was already sold out. Dang. I really probably could have used something like this after the exam:

Nevermind. I am too damn old for that now. I think I might just sit in an empty bar sipping a scotch, while Perry Como plays on the jukebox.

A Nice Break

2008-07-17T13:41:00.005-05:00

For that those that are unaware, I am a Joss Whedon fanboy. I have all the Buffy, Angel, and Firefly DVDs and am eagerly anticipating his new show.

But anyway, he has a new internet production out. It has Doogie, Mal Reynolds, one of the potential slayers and lots and lots of songs. Plus, hilarity.

So if the final week and half of bar study is getting you down, or you just have 45 minutes to kill, check it out. Oh, and it will only be available until the 20th (FYI Act III goes up on Saturday), so watch it.

Houston, We Have A Problem

2008-07-10T23:25:00.003-05:00

BarBri homework tonight was to write two MPTs. Seeing as how in two and half weeks I am going to have write almost constantly for six hours, I figured 180 minutes of MPTs would be good practice. So I self-scheduled them back to back. When the finish alarm went off for the first one, I would begin the second.

It did not work out that way. If you are unfamiliar with an MPT, it involves 45 minutes of reading, then 45 minutes of writing. I made it through 25 minutes of writing the first one when my right started to hurt. Bad. Three years of taking notes on a computer in law school has severely hampered had writing endurance. This could be a problem, because I am hand writing my exams.

I did make it through the first practice MPT by doing the ol' hand shake every three minutes to keep the blood flowing. It was rough. Sometimes you just have to suck it up and take it. Even when it is practice.

However, I am no masochist. I did not immediately start the second MPT, but rather took a 30 minute break (coincidently, same time as the Simpsons). Granted, this break was extended by the 35 minutes it took me to prepare to write the second MPT, but my hand still hurt while I wrote. So just looked into my inner Brett Favre, popped eight vicodin, and made it through. Not really, I sucked it up and took it like a man.

I am already planning on self-scheduling two writing days in the next couple of weeks where I write nine essays and an MPT over the same schedule as the actual bar exam for the sole purpose of right hand endurance.

But the thing that really concerns me is this. I hold a pen in a fucked up manner. Remember in second grade when they gave you those pencil grips to teach you how to hold a pencil correctly? I hated those damn things, so to this day, I still hold a pen the same way you would grip the handle on a pull start lawn mower. It is not that delicate.

Before this whole bar study fiasco started, I was well aware of this limitation. So I compensated. I went out and spent 12 hard loaned dollars on a Doctor Grip Pen and a Doctor Grip Pencil. This is by far the best pen for a person with a neanderthal-like pen grip. It is a pretty sweet pen (though no match for the $25 pen I used for five years until I lost it, or the ungodly great $300 pen (pictures of this make me salivate)), and was anticipating the massive benefits that this would reward me.

Turns out, I wasted my money. As those taking the IL bar know, there is a new rule states you cannot use your own fucking pen. Alright, I understand that no matter what anyone does, someone is going to cheat on the bar exam. It is a fact of life. I am sure that people at my law school cheated (no personal knowledge of course). I am sure that people at your law school cheated. Hell, even I cheated once in my life. But if I was sitting next to a person who took apart his pen, pulled out a little scroll of paper, I would report it. Assuming I saw it. But isn't this why there are proctors. They should not be paid to read Danielle Steele novels for six hours.

Now I am going to be stuck writing with a shitty skinny Bic pen for six hours. Have you ever used a Bic pen for extended time? The first thing that happens is that the roller ball gets out of whack. Suddendly there is ink leaking all over the place. My law school books are filled with ink stains from the rollerball in a shitty pen releasing more ink than it should have. Then, when the rollerball gets so damn clogged, you have to actually wipe the excess ink off somewhere. In my law school books, I just did that on the page, I mean fuck it, I will just sell it later. On the Bar, I am sure the examiner does not want to see a huge ink stain in the creases of the bluebook (or whatever they give us to write on, I have no clue. I do know that there is no scratch paper to take care of this problem). Plus, PLUS, these pens invariably suck. You know how you have disposable razors to shave your face and/or legs. And about 1 out of four of these razors are super razors. Razors that work so damn well you never want to get rid of them, but eventually you do because you have used it for two months and it does not seem right to use it anymore. Then you put on a new razor and it just fucking sucks. Not close, leaves tons of stubble, making you wonder if it would be wrong to pick the discarded super razor out of used dental floss and used up deodorant dispensers. Its that 1/4 of the razors that make you truely appreciate the 1/4th that are super. The same is true of cheap pens. A couple work fine. One works fantastic and you actually use it (assuming you do not lose it first) until the ink is actually gone. Then there is that one that is a turd, that makes it three minutes beofre your hand and shirt and paper are covered in ink. Fuck that pen.

They give you two pens at the start of the essay. I bet I get two stinkers.

Do not even get me started on the pencils. Thankfully, they have a sharpener at the front of the room. YAY! This is not good for me. I went through one whole piece of lead in my mechanical pencil on the practice exam. When I take a multiple choice test, I mark the crap out of it. In a fact pattern I simultaneously make notes in the margin while I continue to read. I see a fact, I mark everything that the fact could implicate, even if it is irrelevant (at least at this point, my recall is not absolute yet). Regardless, I underline, write incomprehensible notes, and make unascertainable abbreviations. But hey, it works for me. If two pencils get me through an hour I will be impressed.

I usually try not to rant about trivial shit, but this is just fucking stupid. If this was a constitutional issue, it would pass a rational basis test, but not rational basis with bite. Looks like I am doing my two practice writing days with a shitty Bic. When my hand cramps into a claw after July 30th, you will know who to blame.

Unrelated news:

Odd results from the practice MBE. I got 47% of the Torts questions correct. Seriously, that sucks. What the Fuck? Torts is easy. However, if the 12 hours of MBE review was good for anything, it was good for understanding why I missed the tort questions I did. With a bit more studying, I am going to get 30 out of 34 on the torts section. Of that I have no doubt.

Oddly, my best score came in property at 75% correct. You can all take a second to curse me. It makes sense. If there was any topic that I hated the most in law school and hardly tried at, it was Torts. If there was any subject that was hard to understand, and hence I spent a shit ton of time on, it was Property. I actually delayed my Property II exam a day after studying for it for four days because I was I was so unsure of the material, even though it left me with one day rest between my other four exams. It is nice to hear that law school is actually going to help me on the bar.

In non bar related news, after I finished taking the MPT, I decided to scroll through the hundreds of unread posts in my Google Reader, and happened upon MJD's annoucement that the new Pro Football Prospectus was out. One minute later I was starting my car, heading to the local borders. I had a bunch of shit I wanted to write about this, but the post is long enough. I may delve more into my fanboy love of football outsiders later. If you are so unlucky.

What To Expect From Law School--Part 1

2008-07-07T21:55:00.000-05:00

"See, the sad thing about a guy like you is in 50 years you're going to start doing some thinking on your own and you're going to come up with the fact that there are two certainties in life. One, don't do that. And two, you dropped one hundred fifty grand on a fucking education you could have gotten for a dollar fifty in late charges at the public library "

---Good Will Hunting

I have recently been getting a lot of hits from what I assume are people who are entering their first year of law school in the fall (i.e. What to expect from law school or Hardest part of law school).(Every one else is interested in diamond rings). So this is my attempt to distill my knowledge into a short primer (and to take a break from bar study because two hours of that shit fries your brain).

Starting simple. What is the hardest part of law school. That is easy. Final exams. Next question.

Alright, here is some more detail on that. The vast majority of law school classes have one exam. And that is it. That is your grade. Unlike in undergrad you are not going to be able learn everything you need to know in one 24 hour bender the day before the exam. Well you might, but not many people can. So you have to go to class. You have to take good notes. You have to do the assigned reading before class. You have to brief those cases you just read. Granted, this only applies if you are trying to do well. But you should follow those tips for at least the first year, do your best, and then see where you stand. (This is also an option).

The long and short of exams is that 14 weeks comes down to two, three or four hours. Keep that in mind on a Wednesday afternoon when all you want to do is go out and get hammered because your brain is already fried.

As long as we are talking about exams, let's take a look at the classes. First year your classes are likely to be Criminal Law, Torts, Con[stitutional] Law, Contracts, Property, Civ[il] Pro[cedure], Crim[inal] Pro[cedure], and some sort of writing class. Now, the important thing to realize at the outset, is that each of these topics (save Civ Pro) are tested on the MBE. Civ Pro is going to be on the essay portion of the bar exam. Each class presents its own challenges, except for Torts, Torts is fucking easy.

I hated contracts. I still hate contracts. But that is probably because the text book did not even discuss how a contract is formed until my second semester. Also, conditions, still do not understand them. They should be easy, but I read that shit in the Bar Bri outline, and I am more confused than ever. And that is my contracts rant (though I somehow did well in contracts class. To be fair, I probably thought I understood it better when I took the test than I realize how poorly I understood now. Confidence is key.)

Of those classes, Con Law is the one that really only presents an abnormal level of difficulty (but note, Crim Pro is virtually a Con Law class too, but solely focuses on the 4th, 5th, and 6th Amendments). Supreme Court Judges like to use big words. And they love to spend eight pages explaining something when a half a paragraph would suffice. They love to refer back to every case the Court has ever decided in the same opinion. And they love to obfuscate what they said in those cases. Plus, it is the one class where dissents actually matter. Other than Con Law I can think of one case off the top of my head where a dissent mattered (Palsgraf; but I did just take the BarBri Torts class a couple days ago).

In addition, Justices hate to be clear. They cannot just lay out the rules as you learn them (Rational Basis, Strict Scrutiny and Intermediate Scrutiny), but continually use different language for the same test. It is highly annoying. So here is my trick for Con Law. Wikipedia. It is like a ready made case brief. For instance, if you read the SCOTUS opinions for Hamdi and Hamdan, they are almost impenetrable (and fucking long, but casebooks edit the cases they present). But read Hamdi or Hamdan on wikipedia and they almost make sense. (or just read about the case that came down this term)

The other hardest part of Law School is finding a job. But you should not worry about that now. Because the best part of Law School is that you have three years where you do not have to work. Some people do. I did not (other than a summer assoc position, but that does not count really). Sure, the cover charge is steep, but I have the rest of my life to work and I love to stay up until four and sleep until noon everyday.

Yeah, there are other good parts too. Making new friends, learning stuff, getting blitzed the day finals end, etc. But really, none of the best reasons for going to law school are the reason you are going. Keep that in mind too.

More thoughts on law school coming soon.

Practice Test

2008-07-07T21:22:00.003-05:00

Today was the BarBri MBE practice test. A fun filled six hours of practice guessing, practice #2-ing circles, and practice holding in one's piss. In retrospect, not really that fun, except for the fact that it was merely practice and there is still a three weeks and a day until the real thing. Still seems a long ways a way. It felt closer at the end of May, before classes started and I was staring at a giant pile of books I would have to read multiple times in the next two months. Now, eh, plenty of time. I am considering taking the week off (other than class of course) to rest up for the two week surge of rudimentary understanding. I probably will not though. The last five days have consisted of (Wed.) me going to a concert in the city and getting shit-faced, (Thurs) actually studying (but skipped class), then going bowling and getting shitfaced, (Fri) going to a wedding (yeah, what the fuck right), and getting shit-faced and passing out at 9:30 missing the fireworks, and Sat. and Sun. were highly uneventful, involving listening to the Property I lecture that I missed and forcing myself to read the Property lecture notes. Yep, that is all I did on Saturday and Sunday.

But today was practice real thing. Because I am nerd, I graded my own test when I got home (actually, graded a.m. exam at lunch. Had to know you know). I am pretty happy with the results. Raw scored a 131. Should have been a 132 but I made a transcribing error on my answer sheet. They, whoever they are, say that your score goes up 20 points between practice and the actual thing so I am hopefully looking at a 150, which means I should have taken MI's bar.

But there were several shocking things I learned over the course of the Practice Test:

I Was legitimately surprised at the number of of answers I knew were 100%. In that there were shockingly few of them. In law school, I only had one multiple choice test out of 5 or 6 where I was not positive I got at least 75% right. Here, it was maybe 20%, if that.
What the fuck is up with intoxication questions? Shit, every other question has some jackass getting loaded. It seemed excessive. I wonder if the actual bar exam is similar. Needless to say, six hours of reading about defendants and tortfeasors getting plowed made me a little thirsty. This liquor store across the street appreciates your efforts Conviser.
I know nothing of the elements of any crime. I knew them pretty well about three weeks ago, which incidentally was the last time I looked at the Criminal Law Outline. Arson, Common Law Murder? I know they have something in common, no clue what it is. I have not bothered to look it up.
Ditto for Torts, except it has probably been four weeks. I know a lot of this stuff, but I could not articulate it. An essay on Tort or Crim. Law would screw me at this point. On the exam, I played the "One of these things is not like the other" game.

Back to arson for second. Those arson questions were ridiculous. There were like six of them that involved arson. Who the fuck cares about arson? May as well ask me a mayhem question (though I probably have a better shot at getting this one right. Hard to forget what mayhem is).
I Love the Constitution. There is a lot of good stuff in the Constitution. Why I have to know if something is EPC or Due Process of the 14th Amendment or Art. IV something when I could find the answer in two seconds on Wikipedia is beyond me. I know the fucking test, lets move on.

Those are the random annoyances I have. The amazing thing is that, despite my shaky grasp of the material, how many more questions I should have gotten right. There were about 40 questions that I missed that I simply had no fucking clue what the answer was. I did not check the ones I got right, so I do not remember how many wild ass guesses were right. Probably a few, though 40 does seem a bit high for the questions I had no clue on. So this means on 30 to 40 of the questions I missed, I narrowed it down to two and picked wrong. It was surprising how many these turned on understanding the difference between "if" or "once" and I just completely missed it.

Boils down to poor reading comprehension skills. Sure, it is time pressure and all that, but it does not excuse not understanding why every single word is used in the fact pattern and or answer. Something to work on. As I have mentioned before, I have not been practicing taking tests, so maybe that comes with more exposure.

I think I had some overarching point. But it is lost to me know. If this needs to be continued I will post it, sometime in the next year or so.

RIP

2008-06-14T00:20:00.001-05:00

I saw this on deadspin. Too great not to share.

Awesome

2008-06-13T18:21:00.001-05:00

Edmonds (02)
by bsap11

Learn More

Practice Does Not Equal Perfect. . . yet

2008-06-10T20:42:00.005-05:00

If you are taking BarBri, you know that they give out an outline of all the assignments plus homework that you should be completing as you go. I am sure that everyone has tweaked it to suit their own tastes and study habits. This is how I tweaked it.

In my opinion, doing a bunch of practice problems is an inefficient time waster (and a little redundant too). I have always believed this to be the case, with the exception of math problems (i.e. testing a process rather than rote learning). In law school, I may have looked at one or two prior exams, but only to get the tenor of the questions rather than what was being tested or to "practice." For a final exam, one has only a day or two to learn a semester worth of material. That time is too precious to be spent doing busy work. The better approach is focus on the material and keep reinforcing it, by writing the elements out, re-re-reading an outline, etc. Why focus on application of one narrow portion of the material when that time is better spent knowing all the portions.

But, because Conviser has been teaching this longer than I have been alive, I initially deferred to his methodology. I did some of the first set of Torts problems, the so-called easy ones. And I got three wrong. Hooray for me. But what does this do for me? I can answer the easy tort questions. But the thing that bothered me was that when I was answering the questions, I knew my grasp of the material was shaky. I had to think through the problems. I had to close my eyes and visualize the elements for whatever tort the question was asking about.

That is not how I want to take a test. I want to get to the point where I read the question and I know the answer. If it is a torts questions, everything tort related flies through my mind, I see it as an old computer that ran on punch cards, and I go through all the punch cards in a second, know what I need, and go back to that punch card in the next second.

I am not going to get to that point by doing a bunch of practice questions, then having to read the analytical answer to see how I got it right. I do not want to have to read the analytical answer. I want to just know it.

That does not mean that I will not do any practice questions. I will do them, but not until I feel ready. Then I will spend four hours on some near-future Saturday doing nothing but Torts questions. That way, I can really tell that I know the material inside and out, because that sort of testing process will tell me that either, i) yes, I know all the material, even the material that the questions did not address simply because of the number of questions done; or ii) that I am screwed.

The same rings true for the essays. Same thing for the essays. I knew the answers for the practice essay I did, but again, my superficial knowledge made it difficult to effectively answer the question in the way that is required when one poor soul is grading a hundred of these things a day. So forget practice essays too.

Knowing the material is the most important thing. Each essay is worth an incapacious five points. And I would think that at least two of those points are going to be awarded for a black letter law recitation. And with a point or two for analysis (the easy part of the bar exam, unlike with a law school exam), that is the magic 3 you need for bar passage.

However, the essays have a distinct difference from the MBE, which will make practice a necessity. Issue-Spotting. Thus, when I finish my four hour tort exam, I will crack open a book of essays, and just pick out the issues, think in my head what I would write about, then check to make sure I am right. Of course, the key with issue spotting is that you have to know the law to understand what the issues.

So, study now, practice later, like in a month. Shit, this is going to be a lot of work. Back to it . . .

. . . Or am I just trying to justify my own laziness?

Pete and Repete are standing on a bridge. Pete falls off. Who is left?

2008-06-03T18:56:00.004-05:00

In trying to figure out ways to amplify my bar study process, I thought of Ryan Holiday's post on Meditative Isolation (though he might say that I have no idea how to achieve my goals). Ryan talks about methods of isolating the right and left side of the brain by listening to the same song on repeat dozens of time. This helps with concentration and inspiration, and in a larger sense, creativity.*

I am not too concerned with inspiration or creativity. All I care about is concentration and memorization. Read the outline. Know the outline. Memorize the outline. Seems easy enough. But with 21 areas of substantive law [possibly] tested, the task is about as hard as it sounds. I need every edge I can get. A more recent post by Ryan clued me in to what I needed. He stated, "From a glance I can feel what song I listened to as I read [each book I have], if I was stable or depressed or excited or hopeful."

With my Holmes-like powers of deduction (Ollie, not Sherlock of course), I deduced that Association is the key. For instance, when I read It, the only CD I listened to was Soul Asylum's Let Your Dim Light Shine (forgive me, I was 14, my musical tastes had not matured). Now whenever I listen to that CD I think back to the plot of It (though in looking back on it, there was a lot I did not understand. Stupid underfunded sex-ed class). It is an odd feeling to hear a song and think back to the part where Bev remembers the time she and the six boys experiment with sex to solidify their bond and Ben (the fat one), goes further than the others, because as Bev remembers, "she felt sticky inside." (Not sure if I remember that because of the music or because I was whacked out on junior high hormones at the time. Nah, probably the later, but still, I have only read the book the once). It seems obvious to me in retrospect that the album should be associated with that book, what with lines like: "But she saw the world through the eyes of a child / And remembers how good it was, and how good it felt"; "No one told me people could be so cruel / Nobody told me about any of this in school / Still nobody understands the things that I don't understand"; " She walks into the evening air / She disappears in the darkness / All that's left's the faint smell of her hair / She's done wondering what it's like to be liked by everyone." To give only a couple examples.

So, it begs the question, can this really work for learning black letter law? It is still reading, it is still knowing, but hell, it does not have to be understanding. There is a masturbation scene in It that I would not understand until a couple years later. But still, 13 years later, I remember what happened in the book (though, in addition to the reasons stated above, it may have been because I was reading a King novel, an action my mother was not too particularly keen on my doing at 14).

Understanding is most likely essential to answer a multiple choice question in 1.8 minutes. Everyone has to be a micro-Will Hunting. Regardless, everyone has to understand, so that requirement is a nullity. Understanding has to happen.

Recall is the major issue. With that, I think that music can be a huge help. Specifically, listening to the same album over and over for each. Ryan listens to the same song, but I hardly have the patience for that. For me, the music is not about isolating myself, I am already isolated, it is about the constant, the moor (yes, I realize that the way I used moor is only a verb, not a noun. I am trying to say that the music is mooring me to the material; keeping me in it, tied to it, removing distractions, preventing cavitation).

Deciding that yes, one CD per subject would be a good idea, I went about finding the 21 albums that I would utilize. At the outset, I was unsure if this would be an easy or difficult task. With as near as I can guesstimate (6000 songs / 15 songs per album; horribly rough) I have 400 albums to choose from. However, I quickly decided that I was going to have to limit the albums I chose to the most recent ones I have purchased. For instance, Panic! at the Disco's A Fever You Can't Sweat Out already has a nice association with a vacation I took to Michigan, and The Who's Tommy, while a great album, has negative associations in mind (fucking slut (hmmm, that is redundant)). I decide to eliminate the vast majority of my collection based solely on the fact that I may already have some mental association with it (easier than spending 15 days listing to all those songs).

So with those parameters in mind, I quickly "cover flow"-ed through my albums on my iPod and came up with 23 albums. I was not keeping track, but 23 turns out to be a pretty good number. From there, I took away two albums to total 21. Then came the tough part. Finding the proper album for Real Property (three days according to BarBri) and Contracts (also three days). The first was easy, Say Anything's In Defense of the Genre, simply because it is a double album. Contracts was much tougher. My only other double albums are Garth Brooks Live (yeah I know, but Garth was a great (the greatest?) entertainer of his day, his live album is worthy of owning), Meloncollie and the Infinite Sadness, All Points BUlletin, O.A.R. Live, The White Album, Beethoven concertos, Beethoven symphonies, and probably a couple more I cannot think of right now. They are all old and failed to meet the first requirement. So I picked an album, but feel that the two auxiliary albums might come into play here. We shall see.

Shit. I got distracted and completely forgot how I was going to conclude. Whatever; Graham Colton,** you and Criminal Law are on the clock.

* He also states that silence is most conducive to concentration and inspiration. I cannot study in silence, my mind wanders to easily; or more accurately, goes off on irrelevant tangents. There is a relationship between where my mind goes and what I am trying to learn, but studying for the bar is not the proper time for this activity. Hence, when part of my brain can focus on the music and the other part can focus on the black letter law, I can stay on task (unless I have had four hours of sleep the last two days. Then I cut my losses and blog).

**Had no idea he was associated with American Idol until I looked up that wikipedia page.

God and Moses in Creationism Defined (A Play)

2008-05-29T05:38:00.007-05:00

[Scene] Mount Sinai circa 1200 B.C.

God [in booming epochal voice]: MOSES!

Moses: Ahh! What!

God [ominously]: HAVE YOU BEEN MAKING FALSE IDOLS?

Moses [nervously hurried]: NO! What? No, of course not. God? Is that you? Where are you?

God [incredulously]: I am the bloody burning bush you ponce.

Moses [gears cranking, not comprehending]: Bloody. . . and . . . burning . . .. Ponce?

God: Oh, Jesus . . .

Moses: That's a good name.

God: . . . forget it. Turn around, see the fire. That's me.

Moses: Uh, O.K. Whatever you say, your highest holy burningness.

God [feigning annoyance at the superlative style]: Did you bring the tablets?

Moses: Yes, oh Great and Merci--

God: Good. Put them down, we won't need them for a while. Today, we are going to start at the beginning.

Moses: The beginning? Do we have enough time? I mean, that bush can't burn forever . . .

God [making whatever expression a burning bush can make to show that it is going to patiently wait for the realization that previous statement was idiotic]:

Moses: . . . uh God? You there?

God [flicking out a burning ember onto Moses' foot]:

Moses: Ow! I thought you were a merciful God!

God: Oh, just wait until I tell you about Job. [under breath] What I did to him is going to pale in comparison to what I do to you [returning to normal] I am eternal, all-powerful, omniscient, yada yada yada, the bush will burn for as long as I wish it.

Moses: What if I pissed on it?

God: Remember your foot? How would like that three feet higher and a hell of a lot hotter?

Moses: My apologies for my impudence my lord. So the beginning?

God: Alright, pay attention. This is pretty complicated. Do you know what gravity is?

Moses: Like degrees?

God: Um, are you referring to degrees of temperature?

Moses: Is that what you want me to be referring to?

God: Sort of, but not really. We are not quite there yet.

Moses: Then, no.

God: So what degrees are you referring to?

Moses: Um . . . gravity . . .[awkward silence] . . . like, um weightiness . . .

God: [excitedly] Yes, exactly. Like weight.

Moses [overly enthusiastic]: O.K.! [gives bush the thumbs up]

God: [dryly] You have no idea what I am getting at do you?

Moses: Sure I do. Gravity is like weight. The beginning is so very important and serious, so I should pay extra special attention.

God: No, no, no and no. But sort of yes, but more accurately, NO! Gravity is the force that holds you onto this earth. It is why things are heavy.

Moses: Aren't things heavy because they are big?

God: Not necessarily. Compare a rock with leaves balled up in the same size as the rock.

Moses: What's a leaves? Do you want me to go?

God: Argg. Fucking desert. Forget leaves. Compare a rock with balled up cloth. Same size. Different weights. But gravity pulls on both objects the same. Let me show you. Take off your frock and ball it up. . . . Good. Now pick up one of the tablets. . . . Nice work Moses, there may be hope for you yet. Now get up on that rock over there. Good. This is the tricky part. Hold out the frock in one hand and the tablet in other so they are at the same height. Good. Now, how much heavier would you say the tablet is than the frock.

Moses: Oh, about a third of a talent.

God: Good. So the tablet is much heavier than the frock. Because of this, you may think that the tablet should fall faster than the frock. But gravity exerts its force on all objects equally, so they will all fall at the same speed. Go ahead, drop them. They will hit the ground at the same time.

Moses: Uh, won't the tablet break? It is six cubits off the ground.

God: Do I have to give the all-powerful speech again? It won't break.

Moses: O.K. [drops objects. They hit the ground at roughly the same time] I think the tablet still hit first.

God: That is just air resistance. Next time we will use your head. Anyway, gravity is a force that is exerted from the very center of the Earth. At the center of the Earth is a huge mass that is tightly compacted. You know how when you pick up wet sand, you can crush it between your hands into your hands into a smaller denser ball?

Moses: Ayup.

God: Good. Now imagine all of the grains of sands across the Earth crushed into the same size ball.

Moses: [closes eyes. Sways back and forth] Hhhhmmmmmmm. I do not mean to offend you your eminence, but I do not understand how that is possible. I have been to Egypt, there is sand as far as the eye can see, yet you pile up all that sand, it is still much larger than the largest pyramids.

God: Yes, I know that it is hard to conceptualize, but I am trying to explain to you the power of gravity. It was gravity that created the Earth.

Moses: But, I thought you created it?

God: Yes, but only evanescently. You think I want to be a burning bush? I would much rather be a cougar, or a Tyrannosauruses Rex, that would scare the hell out of you, hell, I would rather be a camel. The world works according to certain rules that even I cannot change. One soul per body. I cannot push out the camel's soul for my own gleeful purposes. That is the essence of free will. [whimsically] But maybe, if I could have a son, a child, part me, with a tangible presence on the earth, carrying out my dreams, a messiah maybe . . . [trailing off]. But, that is a discussion for another day. I created the universe. I created physics. A nudge here, a nudge there is all it took once I figured out the math. Moses, I figured out how to get three atoms of oxygen to bond with each other.

Moses: Is atom like gravity?

God: Adam? We have not even finished the creation of Earth yet. Don't get ahead of me.

Moses: My deepest regrets at having offended you your illustriousness.

God: Don't do it again. The mass, at the center of earth is what exerts gravity. It is a force that goes off equally in every direction. And before you ask, the Earth is round. Just accept that as fact.

Moses: Round? Huh. I mean, interesting your um . . . godliness.

God: So this dense mass formed, and it pulled lots of other matter to it through gravity. So, you understand gravity now right Moses?

Moses: Yes sir.

God: Good. Because your understanding of gravity is essential to the rest of the story. Gravity is how all the stars were formed, how the sun was formed, the moon, and of course the Earth. You understand this yes?

Moses: Yes. Crystal Clear.

God: OK. Now, we have to go back to before the Earth was created. Before the Universe was created. In the beginning, there was just me. And I had a thimble. And inside the thimble was all the matter ever created.

Moses: Wow. So, if the Earth fit in the thimble, then how big are you?

God: NO! It was a thimble that is the same size as a thimble that you have. Just an ordinary thimble. Like the one Aaron "borrowed" from Miriam. Remember the sand analogy? Same thing, just more matter in a tiny space. The power of gravity. Is this making any sense?

Moses: It is your divine word. I heard sometimes you speak in riddles. I am slow of wit. I know the riddle about what is more beautiful than your face, but I am having trouble solving how you can fit the Earth inside a thimble. Unless it is a very large thimble of course.

God: Oh, Moses smell the roses. It is not a riddle. Follow this. All matter was in the thimble. I exploded the thimble. All matter spread throughout the universe as space dust and gas. Some dust and gases formed clouds. At the center of these clouds, the dust and gases came together to form hugely dense areas. Like the sand. As they got more dense, its gravity increased. At the center, the core pulled in gas, and eventually became the Sun. Further out, more dust came together to become the Earth. Now this all happened over millions of years. It is a very slow, and lonely, process. But, eventually, all that swirling dust formed the Earth as you see it now, thanks to it being the exact right distance from the Sun, among other things. Understand?

Moses: I thought dust was created by dead skin cells? Is that part of the riddle?

God: Damn you Moses! One more mistake out of you, no matter how trivial, and you are barred from entering the holy land. Seriously. [muttering] I knew I should have waited for the Greeks.

Moses [crying]: Oh Holiest of Gods, I mean the one and only true God, I mean, my Master, I am your humble servant, please do not smite me down as I bow before you, on my hands and knees, I beg of you, for I am fallible, I falter in front of your brilliance, for I am weak, unfit to hear your divine prose, I am but one man, and you are all men, I am not worthy to appear in your presence, please, for I will let my people go, you can find them a new shepard, but spare my life, for even now, I will express unworthiness by kissing your feet, placing my face in the fire, to kiss the base of this magnificent bush, and--

God: Get up Moses. Sheesh. Have some dignity. That was a just a test. Yeah, a test. Or, a riddle. No, just a test.

Moses: [still weeping, wiping snot from his nose] Did I pass?

God: Oh yeah, you passed. Passed with flying colors.

Moses: I learn at your feet, oh great one.

God: Sure you do. You learn. Close your eyes. . . . Here is the lesson. There is no truth but the truth as I give it to you. There is no meaning but the meaning I subscribe. Now listen and listen carefully. This is my truth to tell. Memorize it. Share it. Spread it. For this is how I created heaven and Earth. On the first day, I looked at what I had to work with. Not much. Water. Some firmament. I moved across the Earth taking stock. On the second--

Moses: I do not mean to interrupt your sacred narrative, but was this during the day or at night?

God: Oh yeah, forgot that part. On that first day, I said let there be light. That made night and day. Certainly it had nothing at all to do with the Earth's rotation's rotation around the Sun. So that first day, surveyed the Earth, made night and day, and took a nap. That second day, I separated the firmament and the Earth, to make Heaven and Earth. Oh, and I made the sky blue. Do you want to hear about diffuse sky radiation?

Moses: [quizzical uncomprehending look]

God: Okaay. I put some water in the sky and left some water on the earth. On the third day, I called the Earth the Earth and the water the Sea. But when you retell this Moses, try to make this day sound, oh I don't know, busier somehow.

Moses: Like, you planted grass that day too?

God: Sure, that works. Thanks Mose. The Fourth day I made seasons and dabbled more with night and day. Night was too dark, so I figure out a way to reflect light to make most nights not so dark. The next day I filled the seas with all the creatures therein and the land with animals that were the size of 250 men put together.

Moses: No way. That is unpossible. That animal would be, well larger than the pyramids!

God: Yeah, sure, that was another riddle. No giant animals. Just birds. So what day are we on here?

Moses: Fish and fowl were the fifth. Did you take Shabbos on the sixth?

God: No, that is the seventh day. I still had one more day of hard work left. On the sixth I uh, shit, did I make cows yet?

Moses: No your excellency.

God: I made cows on the sixth day, and a bunch of other animals that walk on the land. Then I made man and said, Man, all this is yours. Enjoy.

Moses: Wow, you truly are a great god. Created all of this in only six days. An amazing Earth that provides us with sustenance and a temperate climate and a night that lasts justs as long as I can sleep. It is mind-boggling how perfect you got it. But God, why are the Egyptians so evil to the Jews?

God: Oh, Moses. I made man in my image. I have free will. Man has free will. And now, I shall tell you what a God does with his free will . . .

[scene closes on Moses sitting cross-legged, staring intently into the burning bush, as the Sun slowly sets in the background]

[fade out]

Graduation and Other Things

2008-05-20T22:40:00.005-05:00

I have conditionally graduated from law school. I still have one grade outstanding, but I sure as hell did not write a 43 page paper with the intention of getting an "F", so I think that I am permitted to put "Quasi-Dr." on my letterhead now.

Unfortunately, my utter laziness caught up with me this semester. The two exams I took were multiple choice which seriously inhibits my utilization of the one talent I can genuinely attribute to law school, bull-shitting. One exam was so hard, there is no point in discussing it. But I did well enough on it.

The other exam was easy, except for about 10 of the 70 or so questions. All those questions came from a class that I skipped. Being lazy, I did not bother to get anyone's notes for that class, figuring that a) there would only be three or four questions from that class and b) if push came to shove, I would survey the statute book during the exam and find the right answer.

So, I was wrong; on both counts. Some of the statutes necessary to determine the proper answer were not in the statute book (it was only state statutes, and some questions referenced federal statutes). I had the textbook with me, but that proved just as worthless. I suppose there was a reason that there was no assigned reading for that class. Conversely, some of the statutes that were needed were in the statute book. That helped, the annotations however did not. For all of the questions that had an answer contained in a statute I had access to, some of the annotations clearly contradicted the plain language of the statute. So, like a good lawyer, I looked at the most recent cases, the effective date of the statute, and what the statute really said. (Remember, this is while I am taking the exam). In quite a few cases, the statue and the annotations simply did not jive. Needing to make a decision on how to answer the question (already narrowed between two answers), I drew on my prior experience that annotations fucking suck. Numerous times I have seen annotations (at least for the states), fuck up the true holding of the court. So, I went with the language of the statute.

But who knows if that was right or wrong. I could have just as easily screwed up another part of the exam (I did skip about five classes, but most of the stuff was easy. This particular class was hard because there was no text/statute to help understand it). So I got a B+ on that exam. Even though I have known that grade for a week, I am still a little annoyed. At myself really (even though, I had to attend a mandatory function during the class in question). Should have tried harder. Should have gotten notes. Should haves are not going to help me now; now that the 4.01 dream is dead. For the first time ever in law school, my GPA is actually going to go down, regardless of the grade in the remaining class. Annoying; humbling.

Now, I am stuck in IL studying for the IL bar. It is in a good location. There is absolutely nothing out here to distract me, other than watching Cubs games everyday, though the mute button helps limit that distraction. I am spending about 8 hours a day studying (for the last two anyway), trying to study my way through the annoyance of my final law school semester. Or at least force my way through laziness. It is tough though, after reading black letter law for five hours, I lose the ability to focus my eyes. I figure this might be a bonus though, because with double vision I read everything twice. Win-Win.

Yeah, that is enough for now. Over under on the next post is 13 days. Place your bets.

Key to Getting an A

2008-05-02T04:22:00.004-05:00

Don't let the timestamp at the bottom fool you. It is about 5:30 a.m. right now. In about three hours I will be taking my first final. I have had about a week to study for it, but did nothing of substance until a couple days ago.

Around 11:30 tonight (last night?) I was halfway through the final read through of my 103 page outline and realized that there was no way I was sleeping tonight without some help. Help comes in many forms. My desired sleeping aid is Tylenol PM. That was out because it takes at least two hours to kick in and knocks me out for about eight hours. Nyquil was also available, but anyone familiar with Denis Leary knows that a Nyquil coma does not relent to even the most fastidious of alarms. That left one alternative, Alcohol. Granted, drinking the night before an exam is never a good idea, but a couple of drinks to tire oneself out cannot hurt.

So I had a couple drinks. Got through the rest of my outline and went to bed. But bed did not take. My mind was racing, running through how all the damn articles of the UCC intersected with each other. Make no mistake, I was tired, but my mind does not bend to the will of my exhausted limbs and torso. After an hour visualizing the flow charts for forged indorsements and presentment warranties, I gave up. Granted, that was about 4:45 a.m. Even if I fell asleep when I wanted to, I was only look at an two hours (2 1/2 if I slept in) of sleep. At 4:45 it seemed reasonable that I would probably be sharper mentally without sleep that I would be with an hour and a half of sleep. After all, the 3.4 I got in undergrad was a direct result of taking exams upon 24 waking hours.

Of course, I am much older now (at least five years), but I refuse to bow down to the necessity of sleep. If marines can go 96 hours without sleep, I can make it 23. After all, I spent the last week getting at least 10 hours a night. I should be good, what with my coffee, and my soon to be run to the gas station for red bull and Five Hour Energy Drink, followed by a McDonalds bagel and coffee. I will probably piss every 30 minutes during the exam, but it is a small price to pay.

Oh and none of that is the key to getting an A. This is the trick. About 13 minutes before the exam is scheduled to start, I put on Flying At Tree Level 1.0 by Brand New. Then I listen to Jet Black New Year by Thursday. Those two songs get me properly amped to take an exam.

That is all.

Hoc-key?

2008-04-09T20:05:00.004-05:00

This is the time of year where I write an essay telling everyone to watch the hockey playoffs. Usually it involves tens, if not fifteens, of youtube clips. Well, none of that this year. Except for a short essay of course. But sadly, it is not about the playoffs.

You may know that my team is the Blackhawks. And essentially, for the last nine years, or ever since I graduated from high school, the Hawks have slowly been killing my hockey soul. The team sucked, the ownership sucked, and basically everything about the Hawks was pathetic. Original Six to Original Shit (or something like that). I still paid attention even though I have spent seven of the last nine hockey seasons out of the state. I could not pick a new team. I am no sports bigamist.

This year though, things were different in Chicago. Ironically, it began with death. As a consumer and a fan who spent around 25 years devoted the Hawks, I am not sad that Bill Wirtz died. It is nice that he did charity work, took care of his former players (at least the guys that got paid jack shit in 60s and 70s), and was responsible for 1/3 of the alcohol imported into Illinois. Oh, and was a multi-billionaire. But he single-handedly destroyed hockey in Chicago. And, together with Jeremy Jacobs, is responsible for hockey moving from being America's fourth sport to a fringe sport.

And so it was that "Dollar Bill" was gone. Rocky Wirtz took his place. Toews became my favorite player, and along with Kane, are the best nineteen year olds in the league. This is new. This is huge. (And it bears mentioning that they have this guy named John McDonough running the show.)

We thought we had a foundation in the past. We remember Tyler Arnason, Mark Bell, and Kyle Calder, the ABC Line, that was going to lead the Hawks to the elusive promised land (Not the Stanley Cup, we just want to make the playoffs). That did not pan out. In truth, they were all only average, at best players. (check out their stats this year. Arnason, the best of the bunch had 31 points.)

But Toews and Kane. These guys are the real deal. They are own Crosby and Malkanin. OK, they are not that good, yet, but they are both the real deal. And Bill will not be around to run them out of town like he did to Roenick and Belfour. Toews and Kane make Chicago a destination for free agents again. Because, hey this is novel, Hawks home games will be televised. Attendance is up. I went to this game, and it was un-fucking-believable. The best one I have ever been to.

In short, for the first time since 1992-ish, Hockey is back in Chicago. And for the first time, I know that I will not be.

You see, this was going to be my divorce. A clean break. I would be a hockey widow, albeit for a short period of time, but unattached nonetheless.

The Washington Capitals, whose history is just about as disastrous as the Hawks, have this dude on their team named Alexander Ovechkin. And he is fucking good. Not Crosby good, but close. Very close. And he will likely be playing a 20 minute metro ride from where I live. Over the summer, the first week I was in DC, I went to a hockey Bar in Alexandria to watch a game of the Stanley Cup finals. And though the bar was small, hockey is alive and well in DC, even though the Caps missed the playoffs that year. This year they did not, but barely (do not let the three seed fool you, the got that because they won the divsion, and in reality, were only 3 points better than the Hawks).

Had I made the conversion then, it would have been understandable. If I declared in May '07 that I renounced my Hawk Fandom and moved on to the Caps, you all would have understood. But now, I cannot do that. Hell, after Dollar Bill died, I probably would have shifted back to the Hawks anyway.

But still, it is decisions like this that can shape the rest of our life. Slightly at least. I will probably still go several Caps games, they will be my back up team when in ten years this Hawk thing gives me an ulcer and probably colon cancer. But until then, I will just have to make sure that the Hawks are not playing on WGN that night.

Not to Sound Like A Dick, But . . .

2008-04-04T22:50:00.004-05:00

One of my fellow classmates asked me if I was going to graduate with a 4.0. I told him that I was not sure. As of right now, my GPA is a shade below a 4.0. My school, in its infinite wisdom, gives a slighter higher points rating for an A+, which, at least in the abstract, makes achieving higher than a 4.0 a possibility. If I like anything, I like projects. Especially projects that really mean nothing. So I set about determining if I could achieve a 4.0.

Doing this required my first furlough into my previous grades. Do not get me wrong, I eagerly anticipate getting my grades, but once I get it, I forget about it and move onto other things. I have a very micro view of grades. This project, which really only took about ten minutes, was my first foray into a macro view of my grades. And what I learned was startling.

I have spent the last four semesters making up for my first semester. In each of the last four, I have had a GPA equal to or greater than 4. But my first semester, while good (probably excellent for most), put me in a position of fighting an uphill battle for the rest of my 2.5 years in law school.

But, I am happy to report, that I can achieve a 4.0, and possibly higher. Granted to accomplish this, I need at least one A+, and two A's. A tough accomplishment when you look at it like that. I am not too worried about getting A's, but getting the A+ is going to require some extra work. I mean, last semester, I had two graded classes, did nothing but show up most of the time to class, studied my ass off for two days for each exam, and got an A in each.

But seeing that a potential 4.01 or 4.02 is within reach, it almost makes me giddy. Almost because I do not know if I can get myself into that kind of study mode again. [At least in law school, all bets are off for the bar].

When I came to law school, and the succeeding two years, the goals were simple. Get the best grades, get the best job. Well, I got 1A down, and though it is arguable if I got 1B, it does not really matter anymore. I have a job. I just have to graduate. I could get D's in my remaining classes, and still graduate with a GPA over 3.5. I still get my degree. I still start working when the summer ends.

The motivation I once felt is completely gone. Right now I am in this quasi really want to be done with school, really do not want to be done at all state. It was the same thing when I graduated from Undergrad,* only now more pronounced. Because I know that working full-time sucks, paying rent sucks, paying car insurance sucks. Basically growing up sucks. When is the next testing date for the MCAT?

So lazy me wants to dick around, and not give a shit, while studious me wants to get perfection. And when put like that, even lazy me sits up and takes notice. That lead me to do something I have never done before. I put all my CALI Awards up on the wall, right above my bed. Getting those awards actually felt good, considering the work I put into getting them. They are up just to remind me that, yeah, you put forth the effort, you can get what you desire (sort of, Elisha Cuthbert still is not answering my e-mails).

Well, that, and it is a reminder of what I gave up to get them. Considering it is a Friday night and I am not going anywhere. At the least, my GPA will represent the fact that, yeah, I was here the last three years.

*It is funny how big a deal people make about getting a 4.0 in undergrad. If I had put forth half of the effort in Undergrad that I did in Law School, I easily could have had a 4.0. Live and Learn right.

What the hell, another link

2008-03-31T01:23:00.003-05:00

None of you listened to me back when I told you to watch Arrested Development. Well, you now have the opportunity to kick yourselves for not watching on your own time. Every episode, free (with the exception of about 45 seconds of commercials), streaming on your computer, for, did I mention, free, whenever you want. On Hulu.

Whoa!? What The?

2008-03-31T01:04:00.004-05:00

This made me do a double take.

The guys at KSK did a book draft (it is a long offseason), and the fourth pick made me rub my eyeballs to make sure they were working.

Will Leitch, the editor of deadspin, picked fourth and chose The Long Walk. I have read that book so many times, I practically have it memorized. It was shocking to see it show up there. It is not like it is a classic of American literature or anything.

[I will now go back to finish reading that post].

99 Years of Futility

2008-03-29T00:51:00.004-05:00

ESPN has chronicled the last 99 years of the Cubs and why they could not win. It is way too depressing for me to read, so some one please send me the cliff notes.

[f.y.i. CUBS SUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111111111!!!!!!!!! rofl!!1111!!!!!! lmao!!!!1111!!!!! is not accetable]

Oh, and for the two (one?) person that still checks this blog, I highly, highly recommend the Tucker Max, "Hey. I am making movie" blog. It is fantastic.

Ahhh, the memories of youth

2008-03-03T22:16:00.004-06:00

My memory is some what shitty. I think back to high school, and I really cannot remember much of it. I draw upon my high school hockey memory bank and the only things I remember are the times I utterly embarrassed myself (it was only twice, I swear), or did something halfway decent (e.g. my first goal, and . . . uhhh, there was uh, that time I got a penalty for kicking some kid's stick into the neutral zone (total bullshit by the way)).

Going back further is even more fruitless. Maybe not. I just surprised myself by remembering the names of my K-5 teachers. But with the exception of the time we went to the Mall to show the community how we learned in fifth grade (oh and the time I failed a math quiz because I was so ingrained with the subtraction process that I could not do 15-7 without crossing out the one and carrying it over, even though it resulted in a mirror image of the question. . . live and learn you know) elementary school is a blur. We could try talking about college, but as my IL bar app. proved, I could not even remember which professors taught which class.

Hell, I cannot even remember what I had for lunch two days ago. I could probably make an educated guess based on the food in my pantry, but by no means would I make a wager on it.

So then, the other day, one of my friends had a picture appear on one of those social networking sites. It was a picture of him and President Clinton shaking hands. And in the deep recesses of memory, I pulled out a nugget of knowledge that had long been dormant.

Back in Clinton's first term, when I was about 13 years old, I began to have these things called hormones raging through my body. I eventually learned that the only to prevent myself from walking around with an erection all day was to make it spit every now and then. As luck would have it, my father also had a Playboy subscription at the time and chose to store his Playboy's in his chest of drawers. As was my wont at the time, I would occasionally borrow the magazine and take care of business; generally between the hours of 3 and 5, when I was home but my folks were not. Ahhh, I have fond memories of Drew Barrymore's pictorial (link is wikipedia proof, not actually pictures).

But at some point during this time frame of stealthily pilfering my pop's mags, I would get bored and read the articles. And one of these Playboy's was a few pages on the year in sex (1994? I would guess that, it was probably in the same issue as Drew's pictorial. Needless to say, that was my favorite one). Included among Anna Nicole marrying that old oil guy and Elle Macpherson doing something fucking hot and the cast of Seinfeld in bed with the sheets pulled up to their necks was an innocuous photo of President Clinton shaking hands with some dame. Included was the quote (as near as I can remember) "Shaking hands with the President is a full body sexual experience."

So when I saw my friend shaking the hand of Mr. Clinton, the memory of that singular passage came back, I immediately Googled it, found a reference, and laid a solid gold comment on the picture.

Then I got to thinking about this. I read that 13 years ago. Right now, I am really trying to remember what I did last week, and am mostly shooting blanks.

Memory is a funny thing. But I am confident when there is something that I need to know at one particular moment of my existence, I will be able to recall it. That has to be why I do so well on exams, yet constantly forget to call people back.

OCD Much?

2008-02-21T03:57:00.003-06:00

A couple days ago, my roommate gave a burned DVD with two movies and 500 songs, which are purporting to be the 500 top rock n roll songs of all time. I watched the movies (Across The Universe, which is fucking awesome, and No Country for Old Men, which is fucking awesome until it ends--sorry, I am not an arteest, I want fucking closure, but the Sports Guy wrote about the annoying ending, so go find that if you wish), and decided to check out the 500 greatest rock songs of all time.

So at first glance, the 500 top rock n roll songs seem all good. There is 36 Beatles song (about 6 of which I did not already have), a bunch of Stones (I am not a Stones fan, but I can Jump that Jack Flash with the best of them), almost as much The Who (who are better than the Stones in my Opinion), and a ton of Led Zepplin (eh, good but whatever). Clearly though, the Beatles come out ahead, especially when you add the George Harrison, John Lennon, and Paul McCartney songs (totals 45; that is 9% of the greatest rock songs ever written by three guys (sorry Ringo)).

My only problem with the list is that Heart appears three times. Why does this bother me? Because it clearly means that Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and the two other great bands from the 90s are no where to be found (U2 makes two appearances, with Sunday Bloody Sunday and New Years Day). So, I am quite positive that this list must have been composed around 1985 (R.E.M. is absent also). Which is fine with me. Hell, I need to build up my classic rock library. I love Elton John (not in that way), and I suddenly went from zero Elton John songs to 11. That is a whole record!*

But anyways, after I finished throwing shit around my room at 2 a.m. because the ending of No Country for Old Men pissed me off to no end, I decided to add these 500 songs to my iTunes library. That was easy enough, until it turned out that the artist was listed as "Various Artist" and the track numbers were non-existent. This is unacceptable. So I just spent the last three hours meticulously typing in the proper song and artist names as well as the proper track number out of 500. Once I got to track #50, I wanted to stop, but realistically, there is no way I could. No way I would be able to sleep knowing that there were 450 dangling orphans out there. Fuck you crazy mental idiosyncrasies.

Anyway, I will probably still post sporadically, when there is something on my mind. But I could really give two shits about law school. I just want it to be over. And I want the bar to be over. And I want it to be the two months of nothing I have between the bar and the day I start my first ever real full-time job. Course, that time will go by fast, but still--I will take laziness to new heights those two months. They will write books about me.

But, I took down all of my previous posts because at this point, there are things I do not want an internet record of, and instead of reading all 200 entries (or whatever it was) it was easier to take them all down. I still have them, and may post them in, oh, let's say December, but no guarantees. Until then, I will try to be more guarded about what I write.

And in keeping with that tune, I have never been diagnosed with any mental health disorder. The whole OCD subject line is just a joke or something or other.

*Also of note--One Beach Boys song. Bull shit. I am not a huge Beach Boys fan, but that is a slight and a half. Additionally, the list seems to forget the roots of Rock n Roll. I am not an Elvis fan, but come on. And I was so pissed that Buddy Holly did not make an appearance on this list that I used one of my iTunes gift card X-mas gifts to purchase some Buddy Holly album from iTunes (it had 26 songs, not a bad deal).

2008-02-15T03:04:00.000-06:00

and then nothing turned itself inside out

My Odd Fetish?

2008-02-01T20:01:00.002-06:00

I think I must have a thing for bricks. I had to drive to down to my undergrad town this morning to obtain some essential documents for my bar application. As I was driving through town to the parking garage (that was not there when I actually went to school there), I noticed an odd thing. The entire street through downtown is not paved. Rather it is laden with bricks. And given the icy and snowy conditions striking the midwest this week, driving on brick is quite undesirable.

Then I realized that my neighborhood where I live at law school is also full of brick streets. Sure, it is a nice throwback, but the uneven pavement that fucks up my suspension and causes my car to scrape brick is decidedly unfavorable. So I had to ask myself, why do I surround myself with brick streets when I know they suck? Do I have some sort of brick fetish? I have nothing against bricks. I am ambivalent towards bricks. But I never really looked at a brick that way, you know? Think about it; a nice rectangular shape. Fits into places. Makes building easy. Maybe I could see myself in bed with one.

OK, definitely not. I cannot help that cheap rents follow brick streets. But I got my the final documents I needed for my bar today. I was able to obtain my final undergrad professor recommendation yesterday (after much more work than should have been necessary (at least for lazy people like me)). And I am $712 poorer thanks to the egregiously large IL Bar filing fee. But I have jumped through the first hurdle. I recalled all of my prior bad acts, found two professors who would tell the Bar that I got a "B" in their classes, and managed to manipulate six people into being character references. Not bad for a days work.

But here is the thing. You look at anyone's life under the microscope and you will be disappointed. The only way we learn is to make mistakes. Everyone fucks up, and they want us to get all paranoid that a couple of fuck-ups in teh past my screw up my entire life. I am not talking now to the people who never been arrested or had a speeding ticket, but you all should know, that when someone is too perfect, you can tear them down too. I think the bar application is more about self-awareness.

I have never been convicted of a felony, but I have two major misdemeanors and a couple speeding tickets on my record. On top of that, I was disciplined by my undergrad for telling a cop I was 21 when only 19 when he caught me with a beer. This resulted in my undergrad charging my with a dishonesty violation. Had I been to law school before this happened, and if the school was required by the 14th to give me due process, I would know that I have a right to lie to that cop. Sure, lying to a cop is not the best idea, but the fifth amendment is premised on the fact that we are allowed to lie to cops.

A couple years ago I got a public intoxication. See, I had learned my lesson. That lesson was, Do not lie to cops. So, I told the cop the truth. I was on a porch and quite drunk. The cop wanted to give me and the others on the porch a public intox. I explained, as calmly as I could, why the cop could not give me a public intox. I was on a fucking porch. There is a zone around the home that is considered to be the home. We call it curtilage. The cop did not appreciate my reasoned, though slurred, exposition of the law, put me in the back of the cop car and later gave me a ticket.

What did the other law students on the porch do? Nothing. At least I fought tyranny. And the sad end to this parable is that I ended up paying the goddamn ticket because it was only $80 and would have been a major inconvenience for me to show up to court (cost benefit analysis), and everyone else got the charges dismissed. Why? Because they were on a fucking porch.

This is what I have learned as a lawyer. There is always a story. Rarely is anything the same. In appellate eyes they are the same, but at the human level, there are no set of circumstances that are the same. All the red marks on my bar app have a rational explanation, and I only wish the opportunity to be heard. I only hope that my interviewers listen to me on the human level rather than the disinterested final disposition level.

Anyway, I filed my IL character and fitness application today. I am officially registered to take the IL bar. I cut it about as close as possible, tendering my documents to an overnight carrier at about 3:30 p.m. today. Thank god. one less thing on my mind.

But to be safe, as a cheesy as it sounds, I think I am going to walk into my character interview and play The Reason by Hoobastank for the attorneys (them being the persons the song is directed towards):

I'm not a perfect person
As many things I wish I didn't do
But I continue learning
I never meant to do those things to you
And so I have to say before I go
That I just want you to know

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
and the reason is you

In Which I Use Sharp Objects to Lacerate My Eyeballs and Pierce My Eardrums

2007-12-14T14:56:00.002-06:00

I am going to lock my roommates out of the house until I get some answers. I do not care that this is finals week. This transcends the importance of finals. I need answers, and I need answers now. Seriously, you think you know someone, and then this happens.

How can anyone possibly explain owning a Wham! cassette tape? And not just owning it, but leaving it out in the open for other people to see? I am aware that my roommates have terrible taste in music, but this is inexcusable.

Heads are going to roll for this.

Illinois Bar

2007-11-24T00:55:00.002-06:00

Over the last couple of days, I finally decided that I am going to take the IL bar exam. It is a good plan, take out the 15 grand bar loan, live in DeKalb, which is about 45 minutes from my parents house, save over half that money, because it is a farm town with nothing in it other than one of my favorite bars (Otto's), and attend BarBri classes at NIU.

I have never been worried about passing the bar; I know that I am going to spend two months doing nothing but studying, becoming paranoid, and freaking out on a daily basis. But at the end of the day, I am confident that I will pass.

No, my concern has always been with the character and fitness portion. However, I never expected it to be with getting the requisite references for the character and fitness portion. I examined the IL bar app. last night, and apparently, one needs two undergrad professors as references.

This, to say the least, is going to be a huge problem for me. Huge in the way that I am rethinking the idea of taking the IL bar.* In four years of undergrad, the only time I ever talked to a professor was when he or she called on me. Much like my law school career, I never visited office hours, never engaged a professor outside of class, and never even joined a club (whether or not there was a faculty advisor).

I think that the reference is only for an objective inquiry into ones intelligence, an inquiry which is probably not generally necessary, but given my, ahem, colorful past, I think that the character reviewers may be interested in more information.

I am at a loss as to what to do. Not many people from my school are taking the IL bar, and those that are are nerds, so they know people. If anyone out there has any thoughts on how to jump this hurdle, I would appreciate it. Additionally, what the hell is a non-traditional law student supposed to do, the one who is 40 years old and all his professors from undergrad are probably dead. This fucking requirement has thrown me for a fucking loop.

My plan, for lack of anything better, is to start sending out letters to the four professors that I actually remember having, and hope that they take pity on me, and not necessarily remember that I was the kid who got an A in their class six years ago while looking incredibly bored. I hope that I have a good chance, assuming I can butter the Prof. up. My top choices are my business law prof. (you are the reason I went to law school!), and an accounting prof. (I am going to do Tax!), and convince them that all of my career decisions were all thanks to them and had nothing to do with the opportunities that actually presented themselves.

God this fucking sucks. I also need six references. If I knew six people, I would probably have a better job and not be a fucking tax lawyer.

__________
*MD, for instance, requires five references, none of whom are married to each other (killer for me, my best friends from college married each other), that you have known for five years (another killer, most people who have known me for four years choose not to know me anymore).

2007-11-07T20:32:00.002-06:00

My sister is getting married soon. To a Bears fan. As such, this is their wedding present from me. To put in their garage. Right in front of where he parks every night.

I am not sure if that answers this inquiry though.

Fun Fact of the Day that I did not Previously Know Because I do not Care About Guys Like Him

2007-11-06T12:25:00.002-06:00

You all probably know this, but I did not. John John failed the bar twice. That gives me hope, and not just hope that I will someday screw the girl who went on to become Fraiser's Dad's maid.

Information like this is why I read sport's blogs.

Paul Harvey Presents . . . The Rest of the Story . . .

2007-10-26T00:08:00.002-05:00

So, a while ago I told a story about going to a strip club. But I never told the story of how we got there. This here then, is the rest of the story:

I was shitfaced. I had been drinking all day. The Packers were on TV that night, so I had to drink more. Except they were playing like they had Turk's $40 dome gel on their hands and fumbling everything they almost touched. This made me upset. This made me drink more. I really do not remember the second half of the game. I was that drunk.

My friend put $150 on the game. Based on my recommendation. He is a fucking idiot. Over the course of the summer we worked together, I probably won one bet we had between us, and that was because there was traffic in Adams Morgan. And we would bet on everything. Always just a beer or something, but still, I never won (although I am holding out for one bet. I assert that Elliot's, from scrubs, breasts are a C-cup, he says they are a B. There is no definitive proof yet, which makes me hold on to me being right, but all signs point to me being wrong).

So the Pack lost. I was pissed (my favorite team lost) and he was pissed ($150 down the drain), but his girlfriend really wanted to go to the strip club. My friend and I were both hammered, but she only had a couple glasses of wine, so she offered to drive.

And what a drive it was. We drove around for at least an hour. Taking this road and that road. Side street? What the hell, it might be right. There were twists and turns that I could not fathom. I tried to help throughout this ordeal. My friend had an I-Phone. Surely the I-phone could help us in our time of need to see titties.

But no such luck. I asked my friend to see his i-phone not once, not twice, but thrice, at which point he yelled at me, said the fucking a few times, and belittled my knowledge of where the fuck we were.

But I knew where the fuck we were.

After a few more wrong turns and some circles where I got to see some old decrepit houses twice, my friend gave up. His almost exact words, "Fuck this, I have never been this lost before. I have no clue where we are. Let's just go home."

I said nothing. I was pissed at him. Sure I was drunk, and he was drunk, but fuck him, why should I help him now. He thinks that I cannot help just because this is the first time I have ever been in this city before, then fuck him. Fuck them both. No strip club for my boy or the girlfriend.

I thought that, but I am not that evil. After a few twists and turns, we approached an intersection. From the backseat I said, "Turn left here."

"What?" the girlfriend said.

"Turn Left!" I replied.

She looked at my friend, who shrugged his shoulders and said, "Fuck it, do what he says." His body language, voice inflection, everything about him said, I am so pissed off right now, this fucking kid thinks he knows my town better than me, then fuck him, let's do what he says. Let's get more fucking lost. Fuck him. Seriously, fuck him.

We winded around the curvy road for a bit (the road I said to turn onto), and lo and behold, there was our mecca of debauchery.

I left out some details. He had called this place twice to get directions. Based on those directions, he could not find it. I listened to those directions, and knew where the place was. Bear in mind, this is a city I have never been to in my life, yet I knew how to get to where we wanted to go.

In an attempt to trivialize my great achievement, I spent three years driving around at night. You learn to memorize signs (at least the smart ones do), and always know where you are going. I knew where we were going. I tried to explain it multiple times, but he would have nothing of that. I know streets, I know streets I have never been to, and I know how to find them. He almost missed out on the best sex of his life because he was too stubborn to listen to me.

Just a lesson for you all out there.

And THAT, is the rest of the story.

Trying to Help

2007-10-12T18:30:00.002-05:00

Over the past week or so I have noticed some odd keywords leading folks to my blog. Most of them are written in a question type form, so I will now attempt to answer these questions.

--how long do call backs take?

I assume that you mean when they take you into the office, how long should you expect to be talking. You will usually meet with four people, and each interview is generally about 30 minutes. That means about two hours. When you interview with a big firm, you will talk to two partners and two associates. My advice, lawyers love to talk, but do not let them monopolize the time. However, make sure you are not 20 minutes and both of you have nothing to talk about. That is a death knell.

I have never had any of those crazy group interviews where three or four lawyers talk to three or four interviewees. And I thank my god for that.

-- lawschool & how long to wait before call back?

The easy answer to this is the same answer to every question in Law School. It depends. Some firms will get back to you in a week, some will take a couple months. Just be patient. If after a month you have not heard anything back send a respectful e-mail to your interviewer (the internet has some fun not so respectful e-mails, but I am too lazy to find them unless you pay me) or call the interviewer on a Sunday evening so you can leave a voice mail, and hope he gets back to you. I would not reccomend calling during normal business hours because the last thing an attorney wants to do is spend 20 minutes trying to figure out who you are and he will just transfer you to HR anyway. I never did any of this by the way. This is all speculation, but I stand behind my advice.

--1st year law school cannot finish case brief

You cannot even finish a damn case brief? Get the fuck out now. You do not belong here. Seriously though, this happens to everyone. Do not sweat it. This is why you should always read a case before you start briefing it (HAHAHA!!). By this time next year, you are not even going to be briefing cases. I did it through most of my second year, but now I just do not care anymore. Can't finish a brief. Do not sweat it (unless your school does that stupid on call thing), there is a 1 / however many kids in your class that you are going to be called on. You should like those odds.

--the pain of law school oci

OCI's suck. But having a job after you graduate most decidedly does not suck. So if your CSO is good for anything, they should give you an opportunity to practice with the people there or with local attorneys. Be self-aware. Practice. Call your mom on the phone and have her grill you with questions. Whatever you have to do to be ready. Even if it means not finishing a case brief.

--rod and todd's dad?

Flanders, Ned Flanders.

What are friends for?

2007-10-09T21:24:00.002-05:00

Went of town this weekend to visit a kid I worked with over the summer and attend a football game. The weekend is pretty much what you would expect. There was a lot of drinking. I gave some shit to a guy on a street corner playing guitar and he called me an "asshole." There was the cab ride from hell back to my friend's place on Saturday night because neither my friend nor the cabbie could figure out where the hell we were supposed to go.

There was waking up at nine on Sunday, after four hours of sleep, and immediately cracking a beer. There was the cab ride to the pre-game bar where the cabbie called me a "vagina." The bar had the nicest bathroom I have ever been in, which is impressive considering it was a football Sunday. Then the game. Which was great, even with the $7 beers and 90 degree heat. Then there was some shit bar, which was quickly followed by a trip back to my friend's place to recover (mmmm, black coffee) and watch the Packers.

Even when you factor in the the Cubs getting swept on Saturday night (which resulted in more drinking than it should have) and the Packers loss on Sunday night (nolo perfecto), it was still a good weekend.

However, Monday around 1:30 a.m. it became great. Probably one of the best weekends ever. I should write to VH1 and try to get consideration.

See, after the Packers game we went to a strip club. Which, in and of itself, is really not that impressive, but we went because my friend's girlfriend wanted to go. She had never been before (to be fair, this was only my third trip (total, not just to this location)). We eventually got there (the story of how we got there is one for another day), and it was surprisingly pretty empty. I guess most people work on Mondays or something. They did have beer though. $1 for a cup. Free refills. And the cover was only $20. Not a bad deal. Figure three beers and I am even with what I paid at the game. But that is not the story.

The girlfriend had to get acquainted first. The two of them sat next to the stage while I hung back at the tables (all the view, none of the annoying expectation of money or talk). They come back over to me and are talking with a girl and want me to come up and get lapdances with them (not really with them, you know, I know you do). I do not really like lap dances (let us just say I do not gamble for the same reason I do not go to strip clubs), but I made a big deal about not wanting to get one, and yada yada. After getting the stink eye from them, I ran away to get a beer. But, I had a plan. The stripper girl they liked was over there, and when I went for my beer I asked her if she would do me a favor. She readily complied.

After the stripper grabbed her hot friend, the five of us headed to the "special room" (I would not call it VIP). So we get there, I hand over the money, and the strippers wisk the girlfriend away. My poor friend, a little slow on the uptake, was unable to understand for a minute why he was not getting lap dance.

Then he understood, and walked over for the close-up of two naked girls grinding on his girlfriend. I swear the smile on his face moved each of his ears back an inch.

But the best part, the girlfriend came back and said, "Oh my god! They touched my boobs in a way that I did not think they could be touched. I am a little wet right now." Then, sheepishly, "And I am not wearing panties."

I am a good friend.

Law School Picks

2007-09-22T18:59:00.002-05:00

In a new weekly column, I help you figure out what to place money on this week. Oh, and I am blatantly ripping off this idea from With Leather

Moot Court over LAW REVIEW--These are the big two. Get one on your resume and you have your ticket written. You would think anyway. The truth of the matter is, those who can talk a lot and sound smart while saying nothing will always do better than those who can just write well (like me, All writey no talky). No one cares about the proper way to cite an SEC no action letter, just if you can quickly respond to an irrelevant question without insulting a judge.

Believing What You See over Believing What You Hear--No longer do you have to give any credence to the crazy stories your friends tell you. Unless it shows up on youtube, it's a lie.

Church v. Sleeping: Even (pick 'em)--On the one hand, you better to get work on saving your soul before it is too late. On the other hand, if death row inmates think Jeebus will save them hours before they get fried, you can make up for a life of lying and deceit with a death-bed conversion too. Of course, those death row guys know the minute that they are going to die, you do not.

TAKING THE MPRE over not taking the MPRE--The deadline for the November MPRE is coming up this week (Tuesday). Just a friendly reminder if you are planning on taking it.

Survivorman Even Dog Whisperer--My two new favorite shows. I find myself watching a hell of a lot of Discovery Channel and National Geographic Channel lately. That might just be because I watch a shit ton of TV these days. I really need to start reading.

Talking About Most Anything Else over Talking About A Great Parking Spot You Once Had--I was just outside smoking a cigarette and this dude walked by with some chick and he was telling her how he got this great spot once down a couple blocks (I live by a lot of bars/restaurants). I heard about five seconds of the conversation and I was bored. Seriously, I hope that was a date, because he is screwed (I would think, granted I know nothing about women).

CUBS over Brewers--This is our year. I know it. Last time the Cubs were in the playoffs I spent a lot of money to see Mark Prior beat Greg Maddux. A lot has happened since then, but I bet that I could get some extra bucks from the student loan people at school if they knew it was for a Cubs World Series Ticket.

The Coolest Thing You Will See All Day

2007-09-20T03:46:00.002-05:00

Has not been posted yet. But keep checking this Link to see when Mute Math's performance on Kimmel from tonight is added.

Once it is added, I will post it in here, you know when I get up.

Update: Here it is.

Update #2: A better looking version of the video, plus . . .

Watch it in reverse, I mean go forward, I mean, whatever, watch it. Now.

And, if you were curious, this is just like the video for the song. Pretty much the same type of thing OK Go did with the treadmill video and the performance at the VMAs (or whatever award show it was). It still kicks ass though. And Mute Math rocks, buy their album, go see them live, and credit me.

Yeah, you are right, this song was on American Idol:

Does not lessen its rockability though

Law School Picks

2007-09-16T23:11:00.002-05:00

In a new weekly column, I help you figure out what to place money on this week. Oh, and I am blatantly ripping off this idea from With Leather

CRIMINAL LAW over Torts--Would you rather be a prosecutor with an outside shot at being governor or an ambulance chaser? Would you rather be a public defender who can get his loans forgiven or a guy who sues the Johnsons because they did not put a fence around their pool? It really comes down to the power to take away a man's freedom or the mere ability to bankrupt someone. Power wins. Everytime.

Bottles over CANS--Cans are just so . . ., I mean, it is the drunkness vehicle of the proletariat. We are better than that. This will make more sense with the next pick.

Drinking over STUDYING--You just got your student loan check. It is only a couple of weeks into the semester. There will be plenty of time to study in two months when you are broke. Go live it up. You earned it.

Morning Classes over AFTERNOON CLASSES--In the upset of the week, Morning Classes take it to the Afternoon classes. If you are going to be doing all this drinking, better to be out of class by noon. Then you can study until four, and drink until 11. Plus, being hungover in class makes you smarter. It is a fact.

CALL BACK INTERVIEW over On Campus Interview--Seriously, this is like the Bengals playing the Browns, a no-brainer. Wait, what? Still, the call back may mean talking with 400% more people, but at least you are on the radar. OCIs are the most nerve wracking thing in law school. With the Call Back, you do not have to feign confidence, you are actually confident. But don't be cocky you dick.

This Prank over ALL OTHER PRANKS--"Its Gold Jerry. Gold!"

Best Weekend Ever

2007-09-09T23:16:00.002-05:00

I woke up on Thursday feeling, not so good. Not so good in that I should have gotten up at 9, but felt like such a bag of ass that I lied in bed, not sleeping or watching tv, just lying there, until 1. You are probably thinking, "Great, a hangover story," but you are wrong. This was a day that is much more rare than days when I do not have at least a sip of beer.

I was sick. I never get sick. Maybe a cold here or there, but not sick sick. Not sick like my body is trying to tear itself apart from the inside out. This character trait was always a burden during elementary, junior high, and high school years ("hey look at me, I am perfect attendance guy! Blech"). Nowadays though, I appreciate it. So when I woke up feeling like my stomach was attempting to eject its contents through two orifices simultaneously, I was unsure how to react.

So, I did what always do, after all, I am perfect attendance guy (though not so much since high school, but for entirely different reasons); I went to class, did my homework, made pointless small talk, all while wondering if my body had hit the sharp upspike in its degeneration.

By the time Thursday night rolled around, I was proclaiming to myself that this was the worst pain ever. After futilely searching my room for drugs, any drug really, and finding none (admittedly, it was difficult for me to, you know, move, which seriously inhibited my scavenger hunt), I did the only logical thing. Fearing that I may pass out from the pain at any time, though the pain would prove to keep me awake the next night, I drove to nearest place that might have drugs. This happened to be a gas station. And they only sold Tylenol by the single (two capsule) packet. I did my best to articulate to the cashier that I wanted, no needed, some Tylenol (it was kept behind the counter), and she understood, asking me, "How many do you want? One, Two?"

I responded, "No, Four." They happily charged me for four packets. So when I got home, I ripped open two of the packages, took four Tylenol capsules, and fell into a merry sleep, for about five hours.

I awoke to more blinding pain. But, I took a couple more Tylenol, took a few deep breaths, and was able to do four hours of work for my externship (which I had planned to do on Thursday) as well as attend class. I made it home around five, took the last two tylenol, and laid in bed for the next five hours, in too much pain to move. Around Ten I discovered a bottle of Nyquil, left by a former roommate, and noticing that it contained acetaminophen, chugged half the bottle. I figured this would kill two birds with one stone. Pain relief, and I would fall asleep.

Sadly, I was mistaken. The pain permeated throughout my entire body, and by this time I had developed a severe case of the chills. I did eventually fall asleep, for about two hours, waking up at four a.m.

For some reason, in this damn shit town, there are no 24 hour stores that are relatively close to where I live (other than the gas station, but I was not prepared to revisit that debacle of a pain killing attempt, I needed to bring out the big guns), so I laid in bed for four hours, watching god knows what on tv to keep my mind off the pain, until the Walgreens opened up. At eight, I started getting out of bed, and by eight-fifteen I was completely out of bed, and after a few minutes to regain my equilibrium, I dressed and drove to the Walgreens, where I picked up Aleve and Tylenol PM (the big guns, like I said). Got back home, popped four Aleve, and within an hour I was off to sleep, not to wake up until the Aleve wore off and the pain returned.

To me, Aleve is the best of the bunch. Naproxen Sodium beats acetaminophen any day of the week. I was knocked out for six hours (though sheer exhaustion may have played apart).

So to cut Saturday a bit short (you earned the respite), more chills, probable fever, Tylenol PM did not put me to sleep, Michigan Lost Again (yay), sharp pains running throughout my body whenever I moved (though breathing was painless, small favors), and once wondering if putting a bullet in my head would be more painful than this (I mean sure, I was in pain, over a long period of time, but a bullet to the brain has to cause excruciating pain, if only for a moment. Is there a way to chart various pains by severity and duration?).

So by Sunday morning, around 6, I finally had enough. I decided I needed to figure out what was wrong with me. So I logged onto WebMD. I have always been skeptical of WebMD. There are all of these arcane diseases on there, and virtually every entry ends "Consult with your local Physician Immediately." To me, it always seemed like a racket in order to scare the shit out of people, and force them to schedule appointments with doctors because they think their cold is encephalitis. But I was at my wits end. Apparently, my body was not going to take care of this one on its own.

So I wrapped myself in a blanket, and began surfing around the webmd site, then shed the blanket and cross referenced what I had found with wikipedia in my boxers, then re-wrapped myself in the blanket and did a few google searches to confirm that my self-diagnosis was correct. All the signs pointed down the same road. I had to go to the emergency room.

It is not that I do not like Doctors, it is just that Doctors represent mortality. As Dr. Cox from Scrubs put, Doctors are only there to delay the inevitable. As such, other than routine physicals, I have never been to the family physician. I have, however, been to the emergency twice before. Once when I thought I fractured that protruding bone on one's ankle (caused by a hockey puck, and it was not fractured), and once when I got side swiped nearly flush on the driver's side door, while I was driving, and spun off the road (I got to ride in ambulance, but the only damage was a black bruise about the size of Shaq's handspan). Really, I just like to think of myself as indestructible.

My primary concern with all of this is the fact that I have no insurance. (First time in the ER, I had insurance, second time I did not, but the crasher's insurance paid my bills). ER visits can be expensive, and I am not sure if I can get more student loans to pay outstanding hospital bills. You are probably thinking, hey, why didn't you just go to the Student Health Clinic like a normal person? Well, two reasons. First, the doctor was going to have to cut me. I do not know if the clinic cuts people. Second, there was no way I could make it through another day without taking ten Aleve at a time, every two hours (and I am very conscious of not overworking my liver). The last thing I needed was to head over to the student clinic, only to be told I had to go to the emergency room.

So I went to the ER, and they took care of me. I am perfectly healthy now, with only slight residual pain. I find it odd that they wrote me a prescription for Vicodin, considering the pain I am feeling now is not even in the same stratosphere as the pain I was feeling over the course of three days. I have never taken a Vicodin before, and I am a bit scared too. I might enjoy it too much. But anyway, fret not, I will be fine. And I suppose this means that I am not due to be sick again until 2033, when lung cancer and liver disease launch a two front attack on my innards.

Oh, and if you made it this far, let me share a quick story from today. It is very odd to say "Thank You" to the first man who has ever stuck a finger all the way up your asshole. I appreciate what he did for me in curing my disease, which was what I was really thanking him for. But when I saw him as I walked out the ER and croaked a thank you, I could not help but think that he took my anal cherry. (oh and ignore these next paragraphs, I know this long and I do not want to give the satisfaction of hearing that anecdote to those who only skimmed).

[The Rest of this entry is all fiction. I was going to delete it, but what the hell. Probably the best fiction I will ever write. 5/21/06]

The little hospital bedroom is a lonely place. It was in the ER, so no tv, no beer, and nothing on the walls to read. There was a computer, but it did not accept my pathetic attempt at a login and password (seriously, Hippocratic and Oath not working? WTF?). They had already dragged me through every fucking room they had in the ward, despite my repeated protests that I had no insurance. The Doctor was a surly fellow, likely hitting the tail end of his 36 hour shift. He did not have time for me and my problems and I sure as hell did not have time for them imprisoning me here for seven hours. Shit, I could have done a weeks worth of homework with all the downtime that Dr. Surly had bestowed upon me. Yet here I stood, bored from sitting, my ass showing through the back of my gown because I was too pissed off to bother to tie it again for the umpteenth time. Let them see my ass, serves them right. God I hate doctors.

Dr. Surly finally returns, the frown permanently embedded on his face. He beckons me to follow him, and we take off on another jaunt down the now familiar hallway. I wonder why a guy like this ever wanted to be a doctor. There is no bedside manner at all. Must be why he is stuck doing the ER rounds. He probably dreamed of a successful general practitionership, only to see it dashed in a few months when Dr. Nice Guy from across town starting requesting all of his patients' files. Serves him right I guess.

He leads me to a room you see all the time on the medical shows. The X-Ray room. Not really the X-Ray room I guess, they already X-rayed me four times. I suppose this is the X-Ray viewing room. With the bright hot lights the size of a a good Monet. He sticks my four X-Rays up into the the little clasp at the top and begins mumbling some nonsense. I am checked out (not literally) and ready to go home.

Then, he looks at me, and the sadness I see in his eyes snaps me back to attention. My body goes numb, my eyes blur, I feel like I am going faint. I know this is serious, I can tell by his eyes. He is not Surly, just a little depressed. He points to something on one of the X-Rays and circles it with a red writing utensil.

"Son," he says, "I am very sorry. I think you might have cancer."

My world goes black.

Yay, I Have a Job

2007-08-30T16:24:00.003-05:00

So, the next nine months are pretty much pointless. Hazah.

(except to my loan providers, they are very happy)

Rapture

2007-08-23T19:58:00.005-05:00

I saw this bumper sticker today: "Caution: In case of the rapture, this vehicle will be unmanned."

I think that this is mighty presumptuous of the driver. Now, I am not one who knows God personally, or pretends to have any sort of relationship with him, but does God like this kind of arrogance? The driver is basically saying, yes I am perfect, or if not perfect, I understand God well enough to know what he will deem acceptable my behavior which will allow me to be accepted into heaven for the afterlife.

Shit, I have never been that confident about anything, let alone knowing with certainty that I will not spend eternity burning in the hell-fire.

My understanding of the Bible is sketchy at best, but I am fairly certain that only one man ever lived a sinless life, and it sure as hell was not the driver of that truck. Granted, from what I have been told, you can be the most philanthropic man on the planet, but the gates do not open unless you believe in God and that his son Jeebus died for your sins.

But what is belief? Does one moment of doubt in the existence of God disqualify you? Does cursing God once on your worst day disqualify you? Are aboriginal tribes that stick their historical beliefs denied in the face of their rejection of Christian missionaries?

I am not attempting to debate religion, I already know what the answers are to those questions. I was just surprised that anyone would presume to anticipate what God would or would not do. Sure you can hope, but do you ever really know?

Besides, the rapture occurred in 1983, right after Lotus 1-2-3 was released.

(oh, and I have never read the "Left Behind" series, but I did read a book called 666 about 10 years ago. Very fascinating and filled with untoward hilarity.)

Rapture

2007-08-23T19:58:00.004-05:00

I saw this bumper sticker today: "Caution: In case of the rapture, this vehicle will be unmanned."

I think that this is mighty presumptuous of the driver. Now, I am not one who knows God personally, or pretends to have any sort of relationship with him, but does God like this kind of arrogance? The driver is basically saying, yes I am perfect, or if not perfect, I understand God well enough to know what he will deem acceptable behavior to be accepted into heaven for the afterlife. Shit, I have never been that confident about anything, let alone knowing with certainty that I will not spend eternity burning in the hell-fire.

My understanding of the Bible is sketchy at best, but I am fairly certain that only one man ever lived a sinless life, and it sure as hell was not the driver of that truck. Granted, from what I have been told, you can be the most philanthropic man on the planet, but the gates do not open unless you believe in God and that his son Jeebus died for your sins.

But what is belief? Does one moment of doubt in the existence of God disqualify you? Does cursing God once on your worst day disqualify you? Are aboriginal tribes that stick their historical beliefs denied in the face of their rejection of Christian missionaries?

I am not attempting to debate religion, I already know what the answers are to those questions. I was just surprised that anyone would presume to anticipate what God would or would not do. Sure you can hope, but do you ever really know?

Besides, the rapture occurred in 1983, right after Lotus 1-2-3 was released.

(oh, and I have never read the "Left Behind" series, but I did read a book called 666 about 10 years ago. Very fascinating and filled with untoward hilarity.)

C-Snoring

2007-07-24T20:12:00.002-05:00

I went to go hear testimony before a subcommittee at the House offices today. If you have ever flipped to C-Span while fervently searching for scrambled porn (does that still exist?) you were likely bored by the droll monotone that was elucidated by all uninterested parties. I hit the channel up button when I get to C-Span too. It really is "sooooooo boooooooooooooring." The only two times I ever watched C-Span for more than thirty seconds in my life was for Roberts' and Alito's confirmation hearings. And really only because I was about to be or in Law School when they went down, so I figured I had some sort of CLE obligation to watch it.

But the live show of congressional hearings, is well, one word sums it up: "Damn."

Actually, it needs a couple more words: "Damn, this is so fucking boring."

If you survived my rambling post from last night, you know I was dead tired today. Hearing people talk about boring ass shit did not help. Sure it only lasted 105 minutes; wait only? I think I fell asleep for a couple minutes in the first half hour. So the point is, Seeing the shit they show on C-Span live, not really worth it.

However, in my case, once I got my little nap in, I was able to focus enough to pay attention and be interested in seeing Government in Action. My favorite part was when a Rep. would ask some probing questions, and then when his or her time was up, state, "For the record, I want to make clear I do not support [people breaking the fucking law]."

It was an hour and forty-five minutes of complete unadulterated politicking.

And I do not just mean by the Reps. Of the witnesses, three were government officials and two were "CEOs" of some type of organizations, but I will refer to them as Lobbyists because that is what they were. Hell, one of the witnesses was a forming member of the damn subcommittee. The government officials gave straight forward, non-bull shit answers, while the lobbyists seemed to enjoy waxing poetic on off-topic social ills.

If this sort of thing is news to you, I am sorry. It just made me feel like giving myself papercuts on my eyes when it was all over.

So, to make this not a completely worthless post, on a completely unrelated note; this guy is my new hero.

something?

2007-07-23T21:41:00.002-05:00

I have been going non-stop since Wednesday. I am so tired, the only reason I am typing is because I have an unopened beer in front of me. I refuse to let it go to waste.

Last wednesday was a softball game. Lots of drinking was involved. This was exacerbated by the fact that the team we played was full of dicks. See, I play in the House Softball league. Implicit in that should be a sense of morality. Mainly because we have no umps, the team at bat puts out third and first base coaches who act as umpires for close plays or foul balls. In the first inning they gave themselves two calls, which I could tell from right center were clearly wrong. This helped them wrack up eight runs in the first inning, and when we went down in order in teh bottom of the first, it was clearly realized that they were the better team. The whole thing reeked of them being unsure of our abilities, so they tried to give themselves every advantage. I am not sure if they actually worked for a House Rep. but rest assured he is not getting my vote.

Anyway, we got demolished that game. It was humbling really (granted we were missing our two best players and I was unable to perform my usual pregame ritual of a pitcher of beer plus one with another player on the team), and even though I flat out sucked, it did not make a difference. Sure, they injured two of our pitchers with shots back up the middle, both of whom had to sit out the rest of the game and drink beer while watching, but it left us a player short. And to be fair, we were screwed going in, they just screwed us more. So after the game we enetered a new post-shellacking ritual; getting more hammered. This was a great idea to me. I love drinking. Unfortunately, I had to drive to the game, so I was faced with the choice of getting home safely or getting more to drink.

There were other things at play. My sister was flying into town that night. She had a flight cancelled then another delayed. I had no clue when she was getting in. I figured that since the bar was closer to the airport than my house, she should meet me there. So it was on. After all, she could always drive me home.

So the beer had two dollar drafts, drinking ensued, good times were had by all (it was a pretty good bar, up near the top of my list). My sister showed and she started drinking (spending 8 hours in an airport to make a 45 minute flight does that to you). And when all was said and done, I had to drive home. Granted, I was not smashed. I probably would have been legal to drive in some states. I am not sure what the deal is in DC with the blood alcohol percentage. But I had to work the next day, so I had to get my car home (completely logical at the time). It was an uneventful drive, except for one highlight. I pulled up behind a cop car at a stoplight. There was a car next to the cop in the lane to the right. With the light red, the other car just decided to go. Through the red light. If I knew who that moron was, I would send a gift basket for allowing me to not have to worry about that cop.

So my sister and I got home and talked all sorts of family matters until 2 am when I decreed that I had to sleep. With no open beds in my house, I gave her mine and took the couch. I somehow woke up on time after 4 hours of sleep and made it to work on time.

On Thursday another 3/6ths of my family flew into town. This night was not as exciting, but it involved me being dead tired and nine o'clock reservations at a great restaurant. I drank more, got to bed at one.

Friday was more of the same. Except that I had a Bar-B-Q for my folks and sisters at my house because they all wanted to see it. This involved more copious amounts of drinking. Especially considering I had four beers in the 45 minutes between the time I got home and my parents showed up. I had to prepare myself you know. Loosen up a bit. Or whatever. So Friday was just another night of a lot of drinking.

Usually I catch up on sleep on the weekends. It is not unusual for me to sleep until 1. Not this weekend. Had to get my still-drunk ass out of bed early to drive down to Charlottesville VA for a wedding. Which should have been no problem, expect that I-95 is the fifth circle of hell. Nothing like taking three hours to go 26 miles. DC Metro area, got to love it.

Wedding=Lots o' Drinking. It is a rule or something. The 13th Commandment I think. My best friend from the time you can actually have a best friend as a young person until I was about 10 was getting married. I pretty much completely lost touch with her over the years, but I still her sporadically every four or five years. It has always been a little awkward for me because I am pretty awkward. But this was great. Maybe because I realized I would never be with her, not that it was ever a possibility or what I wanted, but still, she was the first best friend I ever had, and nothing can ever get in the way of that (she was a tomboy, we used to play tackle football. It was awesome, before I realized just how awesome playing tackle football with a chick was). So I drank at the wedding, and did a lot of white-guy dancing, though I don't think I have ever been to a wedding where there was not one single women within the relative age bracket of the nuptial couple. That may have been the reason I danced. But at least I was not so drunk that I did not get a dance with the Bride towards the end of the night. All in all, it was nice, a little sad, but very merry.

But a goodnight begets a bad morning. I was not too hung over thanks to the fine pillows at Fairfield Inn (like sleeping, err, passing out on a cloud). My little sis (she is 20) and I drove back to DC in my car, and along the way we saw signs for Montpelier, the home of James Madison. We stopped, and it was awesome. I am too tired to type up the details, but they are in the process of restoring his home, so the entire thing was a construction zone. Which is much cooler than you think. They are restoring the home using the house building methods of the early 1800s. Seeing it in action was pretty cool. Plus the estate is fucking huge, and has the most beautiful view. I have not seen Monticello or Mount Vernon, and I can assume that they are similar, though fully restored. Thus I recommend checking out Madison's house in the next year or so before they finish. My lil sis and I have already decided that we are going back to Montpelier in 2009 when it is finished and spending an entire day there in order to take in everything. I suppose that means I should not bother going to Monticello or Mount Vernon unless I have a day to spend there also, but I am thinking that is not such a bad idea.

After a day of driving, I went out with my folks for more beers and eventually got home around 9. Sadly, I had no clean clothes for today, so I had to do laundry when I got home, and had to force myself to stay awake until the washing machine ran its course and I could stuff my pants in the dryer.

I was dead tired at work. Thankfully, I really had nothing to do except think. So I did the only thing that can expand my mind at work, surfed the web. That lead me to a couple of breakthroughs on a project. But then, one of my nine bosses came in to talk about a memo I wrote. I think he just wanted to see if I could bring the goods, so he had me send him a copy of the memo I was working on. I rewarded him with 10,000 words of IRAC goodness. So when he called me into his office to talk about my memo, he had not even read the damn thing. Which would be fine, except he prefaced his comments by stating that he learned a lot from my memo because he has not worked on this type of problem before (the memo is for a different attorney, he just wanted to take a look). So we get to talking, and he begins discussing something that seems sort of trivial to me, but is important in the grand scheme. In fact, it was something that I paid no attention to because it was a first draft. He was asking about if I properly framed the issue for my memo. I did not even know what the fuck I wrote for the issue, or even when I wrote it. It could have been first or last, I had no clue. Anyway, I am not going to bitch, I just want to say that critical thinking and verbal defense (I had to defend what I wrote, mostly because I am still unclear on the point he was trying to make after he explained it three times, but it is not a memo for him anyway), is not something I am skilled at when extremely tired.

Parents are still in town tonight. Guess what we did? Went out to eat and drank more beers. Then went to a bar and drank some beers. I eventually peeled away around 8:30 because I thought I had to do more laundry tonight. I did not, so I drank more.

Really, the only reason I am still up is because I have nothing to do tomorrow. Tomorrow is field trip day, and all I have to do is wear a suit and look pretty. I am confident in my ability to the former, now that I know I have clean enough clothes.

So whats the point? Hardcore drinking five days in a row without much sleep is getting the best of me. I think I will go to sleep at 7 pm tomorrow. It shall be glorious.

At least until I wake up at 11 unable to fall back asleep. But I will cross that bridge when I get to it.

They Ruined Deadspin

2007-06-27T20:16:00.002-05:00

Last Week in Review:

Mon: Nationals game. Copious amounts of expensive beers
Tues: Softball game. This other kid on the team and myself went to a bar before the game and proceeded to split a pitcher and then drank another beer each. In an hour. That is four beers kids. We then went to the ol' ballpark and I drank much more alcohol. After the game (it was our first win of the season) I went to a bar and drank more. Got home, and had another two beers. It was a good night.
Wed: [cannot remember, something happened that involved more drinking. Probably bad that I forget.]
Thurs: Went to the Holocaust Museum. Shit. It is pretty intense. Not as intense as I thought it would be (it is a family museum), but from the get-go, when they over-crowd an elevator to take you to the beginning of the permanent exhibit (you can imagine where your thoughts are). On the whole, the pre-war and post-war focus lessens the impact of the actual atrocities (not by much though), but bigotry takes on an entirely new meaning. Additionally, quietest museum I have ever been too. Adds to the intensity. Regardless of my qualms with the museum, I highly recommend everyone who comes to DC to visit it.
Fri: Happy Hour with some folks from work, which degenerated into me and another intern trying to figure out where the hell to go to have some fun. Once we found a place to go, my hatred of the majority of law school students was fully realized.

See, on Friday I ended up hanging out with a bunch of University of Michigan Law students. I am not sure exactly where that school ranks on the US News list, but it is at least top 20, if not top ten. Anyway, I was blessed with the opportunity to spend about an hour and half with these future pillars of the legal community. It took about ten minutes before they 1) annoyed the crap out of me; and 2) realized they were "better" than me.

To be fair, I was hanging out with 1L's (or what the registrar calls "rising 2L's). I engaged in a law related philosophical discussion with a couple of them, but once they found out I did not have instant recall of Carroll Towing, they decided not to talk to me anymore. First off, I hate torts. Why would i bother to remember anything from that class. Second of all, it is 11:30 on a friday at a bar. Sure I will engage in all sorts of crazy legal analysis, but I cannot be expected to cite sources. Fuck that shit. See, I go to a bar so I don't have to cite sources (unless it is, "that was in Thomas' dissent).

Granted, I am pretty discriminating about the folks I am friends with (the kid from U of M that I intern with is cool, the others are just schlubs). But these folks just annoyed me. I left within an hour. I'd rather sit in my room alone and watch the Buffy episode "The Body" while drinking beer. It wasn't arrogance so much that turned me off (after all, I acknowledge that I am an arrogant SOB), it was the sense of entitlement. Shit, the 1L class at UM had 25 people at this bar in DC. I could gather all the people from my school at a bar in DC and I would be pretty lonely (because the other person from there out here doesn't really like me).

The kid from UM that I intern with knows that he is lucky to be where he is. After his 1L year, he is in a great spot. He is very self-aware. Not only that, he understands the system but does not give into its arbitrary manipulations. Its not like I am fellating him, he just lacks the thing that annoys me most about law school students.

Anyways, back to the point of this post referenced in the title. Deadspin changed its layout. It changed its layout for one reason. More page views = more dollars. I cannot argue with that logic, but the sad fact remains, I will not be visting deadspin 32 times a day anymore. I will just check it out through google reader. Their loss.

I Love Morning Exams

2007-06-01T18:17:00.002-05:00

Have you ever had everything you ever believed in taken away from you in mere moments? Had your whole world, your entire structure of faith, demolished like the Kingdome?

If you have seen Firefly (yes I am obsessed), after the first five minutes of the [real] pilot, you see Mal's entire world come crashing down. And if you have seen Serenity (the movie based on that failed TV Show)* you remember the last five minutes of the movie, where the villain has everything he ever believed in torn asunder:

Mal: If I ever see you again, I'll kill you
Villain: You won't. There is nothing left to see.**

Like them, I have been rocked to my core. Yes indeed, everything has changed. Those morning exams, which I dreaded, and force me into 3-4 hours a sleep before each one, garnered me the best cumulative semester's worth of grades I have gotten, ever (and it is not like I just had more time to study, I had five exams, just like first year). I am not trying to be arrogant, ok maybe a little, but this is striking as completely strange.

But after reflecting on this for a while, I have come up with a few reasons how this occurred:

I had one class that was absolutely worthless. Really, it was worthless. I am not a better nor worse person for having taken it and my knowledge based did not even increase negligibly. I described this class as such to several people, and had this class described as such by several people. In fact, for the first time in my life, I actually spent time on the class evaluation describing everything that was wrong with it and how to improve it. The fifteen minutes I spent on that were more valuable than the 20+ hours spent in class. Hopefully this helps the future students. But anyway, no one cared about this class. Either did I, but I still studied for it (albeit half-heartedly) as if it was my favorite class ever. That was probably my worst performance on an exam ever, but I did pretty well because apparently no one else cared either. God bless the apathetic law student.***
Paranoia. The sheer fear of morning exams prompted me study smrt-ly. Usually my study time is spent surfing for porn, playing stupid online games, reading boring websites I would never otherwise read (like mine!), watching TV, and studying. Granted, not in that order or a proportion that would dictate that order (though my porn viewing does increase quite a bit during finals time). However, during this exam weeks I pretty much cut out the stupid games, the TV, and general internet surfing. This created at least two extra hours a day to study, during which time I actually studied. So the fear of morning exams, added to my usual fear of failure and overall insecurities about my abilities played a big role in my achievement of greatness.
The fact that everyone else was a second semester 2L or 3L. The second semester 2Ls have been through the rigors, and everyone pretty much knows where they stand. Plus, they are sick of this shit and looking forward to starting their summer job. Yeah, you all know how it is. I am the aberration. Finals still scare me. Furthermore, the 3Ls just do not care anymore, so that helps. Three cheers for my classmates!
I am actually at my most productive and focused when I am tired. I cannot explain it, that is just the way it works. When the time comes for intense focus and total recall, I would rather be dog tired than working with my full (potentially) mentally faculties. In the words of the Who, "I cant explain"

So that's it. Thats the list. Regardless, it is not like my grades were overwhelmingly better than any previous semester, they just turned out to be slightly better. Which still came as a shock, you know, because of the paranoia.

And if you made it this far, let me just apologize for the lack of updates recently. It is not that there is a shortage of things to write, it is just that I do not have a whole lot of time, which is shocking considering there is $30 in my account. So I will be getting a lot busier once I have money and, you know, can do stuff. But fear not, good stuff on the way (I hope).

*if that doesn't convince you to rent the series through Netflix, I do not know what will, come on, they made a freaking movie about a failed TV Show

**nice way to bookend the Firefly/Serenity universe, eh?

***apathetic at least to one exam. I understand they have bigger fish to fry.

DC Dispatches ## 1, 2 and 3

2007-05-21T21:37:00.002-05:00

My internet has been buggy. So this is a recap of my first week in DC:

#1

I have been in DC for just under 19 hours and I just saw my first war protest march. At least I assume it was. I was taking a smoke break and was not really focusing on their chanting, but I did see signs that said something about Iraq and one that said "Impeach Bush."
.
I won't lie, I voted for Bush **cough**twi**cough**ce**cough** I really wish I could have that second one back. I would have voted for myself. (Note to reader, In the 2000 election my vote counted, not only because Bush won, but because it was a pretty close race in the state where I voted. In 2004, I voted in IL, where my vote did not matter at all. I only mention this, because I shudder to think what would have happened had Gore been in office on 9/11. Short story, he would have had to prove he was a tough guy, and would have bombed someone by 9/17. Also, it shows that I hate politics (now anyway)).

DC has also made me more political. Please ignore it, I talk mostly out of my ass. What do you expect, they give me a free paper every morning when I get on the Metro; it makes me feel learned.

#2

I fucking hate IL. If I still lived there, all would be grand. But I do not. I go to school out of state, and now I am in DC. I still maintain my IL residency because god knows where I will be in a year. And with living at my parents still a possibility, I have not bothered to change the tags on my car or get a new driver's license.

Contrary to what the IL court system may think (anyone know a good traffic lawyer in the Downers Grove area? I have a court date for speeding in a construction zone in June (yes, it is a must appear violation, and I already continued it once since my first court date was the week before finals)), I qualified for the safe driver renewal. This means I send them a check, and they send me back a sticker. A sticker to put on the back of my current license.

Now the problem is that my license expired in February. I got the sticker, but the sticker goes on the back of the license. Many, many retailers (I still lack the balls to head into the shady "Cold Beer" store on the corner) have begun looking at the expiration date on the license. Not just the birthdate matters anymore.

So the most recent tale of woe. After a particularly fulfilling day where I did jack shit for eight hours, and got paid for it, then headed to VA for some cheap smokes ($22 for 10 packs! OK, it was buy one get one free, but still, awesome), and finished up my day by walking around the Washington Monument, WWII Memorial, and the Lincoln Memorial (if you ever go, just study his face, his shoulders and his posture. Atlas revisited). With blisters on my feet, I headed to the nearest Giant food store for a nice six pack of bud light. Then I went to checkout.

I guess in DC you always have to show your license. So as I bought my beer, I did. Uh-Oh, my license is expired. I tried to explain to her how the stupid auto-renewal system works. She had none of that and went to see a manager. Yep, I am now the ass holding up the express line. I am sorry to all the folks behind me. I am legit. I was not trying to scam beer. And if I was, it would not be a six pack of Bud Light.

Anyway, after talking with the manager for five minutes, they summoned me over to speak my peace. I do not think that the manager bought my explanation, but she certainly accepted my male-pattern baldness. And I was just about to whip out my law school ID and threaten to sue them. Oh well.

Anyway, that link above, I am printing that page out tomorrow at work and carrying it around with me from now on. This shit happens all the time. It sucks.

#3

Finals killed me. And I am broke. I went straight from finals to packing to taking a trip out of town to driving to DC. This first week was not exhausting, but I was freaking exhausted. I slept at least 24 hours over the weekend (not counting Sunday night). It was glorious, as sleep usually is. So I did not do anything fun over the weekend.

I am also broke, which seriously puts a crimp into having fun. I do not get a paycheck for another two and a half weeks, so it appears that I will be maxing out another credit card (that makes 4! God Bless America and the ability to live beyond your means) before I get to that point. Ahh well, fun will be forthcoming. I hope at least.

A Diamond is Forever, but My Salary is Exponentially Fleeting

2007-05-06T16:30:00.002-05:00

The other night I got into a debate over how much an engagement ring is supposed to cost. I remained steadfast in my opinion that it is two month's salary while she was adamant (likely for personal reasons) that it was three. After getting no where with hearsay and conjecture, I did what any good little law student does.

I researched. Lexis and Westlaw were no help, so I used the second best thing. Google.

So I found this page, which pretty much confirmed what I already knew, that it is two months salary not three.

There are also numerous articles and videos detailing what a scam the diamond trade is, but we already knew this. They keep supply (what is available for sale) low and pay miners 2 cents hour, yada, yada. That ain't my fight (maybe one day, but not today).

However being brainwashed is my problem. Over the course of my investigation, I discovered a video on youtube that is a DeBeers commercial from the 1990s. Here it is:

Yeah, its nice, classic DeBeers, but did you carch the end?

Here is the screenshot of the last scene (click on it for large size):

See what it says there? "How else could a month's salary last a lifetime?"

When the fuck did it become two months salary? Was this a cheap ring? WTF? You cannot arbitrarily change your slogan to brainwash me into spending an extra couple grand. Was this youtube doctored? I need answers because I am pissed off about this.

However, I know this is a losing battle, because I am screwed either way (if I can by a cheap ring I end up married; and if I refuse to overpay for a ring, I end up cold and alone. Lose/Lose). To quote Ron White, the actual slogan for DeBeers should just be, "Diamonds . . . That'll Shut Her Up."

And I Will Play Your Game Beneath The Spin Light

2007-05-01T15:45:00.002-05:00

Morning Exams will be the death of me.

For the first three semesters of law school, I have had afternoon exams. Now they decided to change things up, and force me to take my exams in the morning. As has been well documented here, I am not a morning person. This causes a huge problem. See, my brain refuses to function for the first two hours of the day. My notes from my morning classes past are a dyslexic hodgepodge of incoherency. So briefing cases my first three semesters was actually worthwhile, at least for a couple of my classes.

The week before exams I practiced getting up early, i.e. earlier than I absolutely had to (for instance, a 9 o'clock class means I get out of bed at 8:45 because it takes it takes me five minutes to piss, brush my teeth, and throw on the dirty clothes laying on the floor, five minutes to drive to school, and five minutes to walk to class). Needless to say, it was an epic failure. They say practice makes perfect, but what happens when you utterly fail at practicing?

I will enlighten you. My first exam was a four-hour furtive flailing fast finger fest (whatever the hell that means, I felt like throwing in some alliteration. This is why I am not a poet). Because that exam started at 8:30, I deduced that I had to be up by 5:30 a.m. in order for my brain to function properly by test time. That is all well and good, except I did not fall asleep until are 3:30 and my alarm started going off around 4:45. But, the important thing is that I was up and moving by 5:30, and around 7:30 the fog lifted from inside my cranium and was able to take the test and remember most of what I needed to.

So I had another exam this morning. Same scenario. I had to to get up early, blah, blah. I think I was asleep by 2:30 (or shortly after the end of the first episode of the second set of Futureama). Except I could not be roused this morning. The 96 alarms I had set just weren't cutting it, and I finally gained cognizance around 6 a.m.

You are probably thinking, hey 6 a.m., that isn't too bad. Well, smart-ass, I had planned on studying since I did not know this shit at all, and was desirous to get up around 4:30. When that did not happen, I said to myself, "Screw it, I just won't go to the exam this morning."

So I did not.

I am taking it tomorrow, and it should be all good. It does screw up my exam schedule a bit, but I should be O.K. Plus, with the two hours of sleep I got last night, I plan on passing out around 7 pm tonight, and getting up around 3. Ahhh, 8 hours. That will be nice. Hopefully I can keep this schedule up, and I might be able to survive the next week. Only four exams left!

Oh, and a couple random notes. This is the best song not created by Brand New, LBC or OLP, that I have heard since Jet Black New Year by Thursday (so I am a little late on the bandwagon, but at least I am on it now).

Second, in the purported best of the blog in the post below, they are listed in no particular order, so if you started at the top, and thought they sucked, you were probably right. But if I could make two recommendations, the New Years story and the Normal Thursday story, while I have no clue if they are any good, were my two favorite to write up.

Just What We Needed . . .

2007-04-26T18:55:00.001-05:00

So I am working on my Con Law Outline and I get to Locke v. Davey. Rather than reading it again, I head over to Wikipedia to get the holding.

For Background, this case involved a kid who wanted to be a preacher and was enrolling in college to study theology. The state took back the scholarship it gave him, because it violated the state's constitutional provision of absolute division between church and state.

The Supreme Court upheld the decision of the state. And, probably because of that, the fucking kid decided not to be a preacher. I will let Wikipedia explain:

"Joshua Davey, the student who lost this case, enrolled in Harvard Law School in 2003, shortly before the case was argued before the Supreme Court.[2][3] He graduated in 2006, having served as a managing editor for the Harvard Journal of Law & Public Policy in his final year.[4]"

Just what we need, more lawyers and less preachers.

A Short Guide to Taking Finals

2007-04-19T23:23:00.002-05:00

In lieu of actually studying for finals, I decide to write up some guidelines on how I take exams. I don't care whether it helps anyone or not, I just do not feel like outlining.

Go To Class

By now it may be to late to reconcile this, but for future reference, the best thing you can do is to go to class, and rather than playing some stupid flash game online, actually take notes and pay attention to what the professor says.

In class I do not take notes so much as take dictation. I do this because when I go through my notes to prepare my outline, I have the Profs terms and phraseology, which can then be replicated on the exam.

Outlining

Different methods work for different people. One thing I do is when I am incorporating a rule from a case into my outline, I include a brief description of the pertinent facts because it gives the rule context. Then, when writing the essay it is easier to understand how the rule relates to given facts. Of course, this blows up my outline, as they generally end up being forty pages or so.

I also do not outline per se, since I do not use the standard outline format. I incorporate the headings from the book, but write everything in sentence format rather than shorthand. It makes the process of outlining a bitch, but at least for me it pays off.

Taking The Exam

Despite what people tell you, there is a silver bullet for an answering an essay question. Simply apply the facts in the question to the law.

I am amazed that some people (during an open book exam) will write out an answer to a question, and when something in the facts relates to what they wrote, they copy the stock answer. This I do not understand in the slightest. You have to approach the exam in such a way that everyone knows the law. Once you pass the bar, each lawyer is entrusted with knowing the law. Profs write exams the same way. Everyone should be on equal footing from the standpoint of knowing what the law is. A final exam is not a treatise on the law. It is taking the law (which all fifty kids in your class know) and applying it to the facts. Hence, the exam is all about the facts. I spend much more time writing about what facts are important, and why they are important than just regurgitating the law.

Obviously, the law is important, but the facts are just as important.

My second point in taking an exam is that, despite what the Profs may say, length is important. Explaining a little bit about why something isn't applicable may just get you a slightly higher grade. Granted, you can't just write for the sake of writing, it has to be correct and relevant, but if you have extra time, it never hurts to show off how much you know by adding something that does not really add value to your answer, but distinguishes you slightly from everyone else.

In terms of length, I usually shoot for 1,000 words per hour. Sure, 16 words per minute is not that much, but when you factor in the time to read the question, it bumps up to about 25 wpm. I am not sure if this is a lot, a little or whatnot. For me, it is just how things generally turn out (though I generally end up writing more than that, and on occasion less. And I know this because I take my exams on the computer. For you with the bluebooks, you are fucked).

I also recommend taking a few minutes after reading the question to map out in your head or on paper, the general structure of your essay. What point you will address first, the law, etc. I am sure that no one just jumps in and starts writing, but closing your eyes for a minute, and just thinking about the question cannot hurt.

Also, read the question and the facts twice. It is never good to miss a key fact.

Additionally, when you first get the exam, make sure you know how many questions there are. I took an exam last semester that, for whatever reason, I thought had only 3 questions, and when I was halfway through the third question, with about 30 minutes left to take the test, discovered that there was a fourth. I still got a decent grade, but I do not think I ever typed so fast in my life. I am sure that typos abound.

Some people suggest rereading your answer when you are finished. I don't. Have faith, you probably got everything the first time. By rereading you are just wasting time.

Unless you have time to reread, but I still do not recommend it. You look much cooler leaving the exam 30 minutes early. Plus, there is the inevitable second guessing yourself. You will do enough of that after the exam, no need to do it during the exam. Be a Romantic, its more fun that way.

As far as multiple guess exams go, I cannot help you. I think multiple guess should be banned in law school, and I have no interest in taking such exams. I usually do not do so well on those. However, I do recommend that you bring in a Magic 8-Ball to help you on the ones you are not too sure about.

I think is all that I have. These have just been my opinion, I disclaim all the standard warranties that are guaranteed by anonymous blogs. Any questions, let me know.

(Also, I have never taken one of those, "How To Do Well On Exams" seminars. I came up with all this, on my own, right now, while flipping between Hockey and the Cubs, so the advice above is not likely to be all that good anyway)

Outlining

2007-04-13T23:05:00.001-05:00

Remember in junior high and high school, when you had to take all those bullshit classes where you would say to yourself, "When am I ever going to need this?"

Though I know I learned the difference between "genus" and "species" at one point in my life, I am chagrined to mention that I just had to look up the difference on Wikipedia.

Who the hell knew it would at one point become relevant? I thought it only applied to animals.

It is Things Like This That Explain My Male-Pattern Baldness

2007-04-12T22:05:00.002-05:00

You know I love hockey. If you scroll down, you will see about 20 youtube hockey videos in one post. And I watched about 100 to narrow it down to those 20.

So you can undoubtedly understand that I had hockey on while doing my reading last night, until I realized I was doing too much watching and not enough reading (even though the TV was on mute), and forced myself to turn off the TV. Hey, you should forgive, I was tired and had a lot of work to do. The Pens were getting crushed anyway. Much later, I flipped the TV back on and saw that Vancouver was up on Dallas 4 to 2. I think it was the third period, and the Canucks have Luongo, so I figured the game was over, finished up my reading and watched an episode of Firefly on DVD. By now it is about 1:30 a.m. Extremely tired and ready for bed, I start surfing the channels looking for something decent, since Adult Swim is showing crappy anime now.

Lo' and behold, I come across the ESPN ticker, and what the fuck? The Canucks and Stars are still playing! It is the Second Overtime! This is great. One great part of playoff hockey is the fact that the game will not end until someone wins. So get under my covers, put the sleep timer on 60 minutes, and wait for someone to win.

Only no one does. The second OT ends with the score tied 4-4. 20 minutes later, the 3rd OT begins. 3 overtimes, now I am invested, I am not sleeping until this thing is done. Sure I punked out on the beggining and middle and the first end of the game, but I am here now and that is what matters right?

Besides, the Third OT was fucking awesome. A couple of "pings" (when the shot hits a post), no penalties and of course, no goals. But also no commercials. The 3rd OT ends at 2:50 a.m. with the score still tied. With 20 minutes until 4th OT starts, I flip to the Cartoon Network and catch the last bit of Futureama and the first bit of Family Guy. 3:10 rolls around, and I go back to Versus (the network that broadcasts hockey).

[pause for dramatic effect]

They are showing a pilates infomercial. My mind starts racing, what the fuck is this? Is this a commercial or an infomercial (but in my heart I know). I wait a couple minutes. I know the 4th OT has started. I know that I am on the right channel.

I know that I am fucking pissed.

I have to get out of bed, and turn on my computer (which takes five minutes to turn on). Stewing, and stewing some more, I sit there. It is quarter after three in the morning and I have to be up in five and half hours (that is, if i do not mind going to class in my skivvies and not peeing or brushing my teeth before I leave). My computer boots up, finally, but no, it cannot be that easy, because my sound card isnt recognized. I have to uninstall it and reinstall it so that I can hear sound.

While I wait an eternity for my computer to accomplish this relatively simple task, I check out the hockey message board, hfboards.com, check out the game thread, and discover that other people are facing the same dilemma. Fuck Versus I think.

So anyway, I get the sound working, go to NHL.com and get the radio feed and listen to the last five minutes of the game, which ends around 3:30 am on one of the Sedin Brothers Goals. Vancouver Wins. The GM Place is going nuts.

Sure would have been nice to see that.

So during that five minutes while I was listening to the game, I fire off an extremely angry letter to Versus, letting them know of my absolute displeasure.

I figured this would be the talk of the blogdome today, after all, everyone had the BigLead's back when Cowherd crashed their site and they have been all over Dice-K and Imus. I thought this was up there with MLB trying to put Extra Innings on DirecTV only.

But sadly, no one seems to care. I found two blog entries talking about this. This one (written as it happened and similar to what I would have written at the time, though I would have had about 200 more "fuck"'s) and this one, which makes the astute "Heidi" reference (also, mad props to that guy, Greg Brownell , because he is the one that got a hold of the AP, and made this a newsstory (it is likely Versus would have ignored it had they not been contacted by the AP)).

So all my favorite blogs never mentioned it once today, be it Shanoff, Deadspin, WithLeather, AwfulAnnouncing, NHL Fanhouse, OffWingOpinion, and all the rest.

A fucking travesty. However, based on the AP article, as well as the messages on Hfboards indicating that several people still had the game on Versus, Me thinks that blame rests with one party.

FUCK YOU TIME WARNER!!!!

Yeah, I said it. It seems that my cable company is the party most likely to blame for cutting off the game. It would be great to be able to switch, but you know, the whole monopoly thing and trees cutting off access to a satellite. I was forced to use Time Warner in Undergrad as well, and let me say, they really do suck (it took three fucking tries before they could figure out to hook my house up with cable, even though the people that lived here previously had it).

And they are going to wonder why we haven't paid out bill in three months.

So, in sum, I am very pissed to have missed the end of the sixth longest game in NHL history (though I did get to listen to it on streamed internet radio!). I am very pissed that no one in this country cares enough about hockey to mention this (though the AP story was on ESPN's NHL page). I am extremely pissed that the NHL did not contract around this with Versus, which in turn would have contracted with the cable companies to prevent pre-empting live programing such as this. (And if Versus was that smart, I will happily testify as to my pain and suffering in a court of law, showing that by Time Warners actions, Versus has lost their expectancy interest in me watching any future non-NHL programming on the network).

To conclude, read this. It has nothing to do with this bullshit, but it might pique your interest in the hockey playoffs, then when TV fucks you, you will understand my pain.

The Ice is Getting Foggy

2007-04-10T23:17:00.002-05:00

Ahh, this is my favorite time of the year. Opening Day was a week ago, and the Cubs are still in the pennant race, the NFL draft is a couple weeks away and I am ODing on mock drafts, and quite possibly the best part of this time of year, finals are just around the corner. It is difficult to trump outlining six hours a day (I assume, I haven't started yet).

Oh, and the Stanley Cup playoffs are starting. You should watch. Hockey is fun. Check your local listings for Versus (that is a TV channel, probably at the high end).

And just to get you fired up, here is a kick ass hockey fight from several years ago (blatantly ripped off from WithLeather).

And, to get you even more excited, here are a couple videos of Sidney Crosby, the 19 year old wunderkind.

("Crosby beats Kolzig like he's a rented mule")

More of the same, but with commentary by Sid the Kid

The obligatory "Tribute" Video

Yeah, so maybe I have a little man crush on him. But check out the playoffs, and you will develop one to.

Manipulating Kids is Fun

2007-04-04T19:14:00.002-05:00

A long time ago, in a suburb far far away, I was a little kid. Though I cannot recall my exact age, I do distinctly recall being much shorter than I am now. I was probably in the six to ten range. It was before fourth grade (likely much before), of that I am positive, because when the following takes place, my best friend was my neighbor [Cindy].

Cindy was a tomboy, and we used to have a blast playing tackle football in the backyard, as well as playing He-Man and G.I. Joe. This was not exactly a Calvin-Susie type of relationship. She was the one that taught me how to curse and convinced me that Santa was not real (though the title of this post may imply that this will be about Santa Claus, it is not, that is a post for another day (check back in nine months)).

She was also kind enough to give me the painstaking play-by-play of the most recent The Simpsons episode (first season!) on Friday afternoons, since the Draconian Regime controlling the remote in my household had censored that particular show. Ahh, a girl who would play football, Nintendo and G.I. Joe. You can see how no one has measured up to her since then.

Enough digression and back-story. Now that I have started writing this, I realize that when the following occurred I must have been six or seven. The Simpsons debuted in 1989, putting me at the ripe ol' age of 8, and I know that this happened before that, because, sadly, The Simpsons recaps were the beginning of the end, as she would soon for junior high, and leave the poor elementary student in the dust (ok, extremely over-simplified and likely inaccurate, but it will do for our purposes today).

So being a six or seven year old, there were two things I liked to do. Play and get dirty. Usually they went hand-in-hand, but there were plenty of times where practicing sliding into second base was a lot of hard work. Dressing up and looking nice meant one thing: Church. If there has been anything that I have consistently hated from age six to twenty-six it is Church. Sure the reasons have changed, but back then, they were just as pure. Why wear uncomfortable pants and an itchy sweater when you could wear shorts and a T? I may be a godly man today had I been allowed to wear shorts to church.

You can imagine, that when Cindy's father approached me on one fine spring day in '87 (or '88), and asked me to participate in some stupid fashion show, I was not enthused. In fact, I think that was the first "What The Fuck" look I had ever given to an adult. I told him no, simply and emphatically. No, no, no, no, no, no. Had I a larger vocabulary I may have said something like "Fuck No" or "Hell No" or even (had I listened to more gangsta rap and less Vanilla Ice) "[n-word] please."

Had I been a bit older, I would have been well-versed in the whole "No means No" phenomenon, but, unfortunately, I wasn't. Cindy's Father, knowing my naivety, kept pushing and pushing. You know how it works, they keep asking, explaining things differently, and after a while, it begins to sound like a good idea. I may have been young, but I understood what it this ordeal would mean three things: Wearing Nice Clothes and Having Others Seeing Me In Nice Clothes and Missing Out On A Saturday. With those three things in mind, I stuck to my guns, stood steadfast, and refused to consent, despite the fact that Cindy's Father had recruited my parents to begin leaning on me.

Then he started making promises. And one promise made me cave. He promised that after the fashion show, he would take Cindy and myself to McDonald's.

Ok, stop laughing at me. First, I was six. Second, you have to understand the time period we lived in. I was raised in a household where we could only have soda on special occasions. Cable television was a pipe dream. Hell, I could not even watch the Simpsons. You think my parents were big on taking me to fast food joints? They sure as hell were not. We had fast food twice a year; one the big drive to summer vacation destination and on the depressing drive home from summer vacation destination. For me, eating at McDonald's was exotic, the equivalent to eating a $60 dollar steak today.

So I caved. I caved because I liked hamburgers boiled in grease and hollow french fries. I sold out all the ideals a six year old harbors for a $5 meal. And Cindy's Father knew he could buy my childhood for 40 bits.

But we shan't forget the real point of this story. For one day in my life, I was a male model. Walked down a runway. Turned. And of course, did not smile (mostly because I was miserable). And that is just an FYI to all the ladies out there. Me, former male model.

Not Flying Under The Radar

2007-03-31T23:50:00.001-05:00

So, a couple weeks ago, my school had its CALI Awards. For those of you not familiar, a CALI award is given to the highest grade in each class (See this website for a list of schools that participate in the CALI program (91 total), it even has all the winners, (good luck finding me, but hopefully you can find you). For those not in the CALI program, it is referred to as getting “The Book” in a class. See this for more info).

I cleaned up at the CALI’s, but really did not want to go. I am not really one for public acknowledgment of achievements. A grade on a transcript, a pat on the back from my boss, and money are all I really need for validation. Sure, absence of some recognition hurts, we all have some ego that needs to be fed, but I have no need to stuff myself on ambient praise.

But I went because I did not want the Prof. making the announcements to make some snide comment about me. Turned out, he did not read the awards, so it was all moot anyway. But I still rebelled in my own little way. The invitation says “Formal Attire Requested” leaving a nice loophole, such as using "may" in a contract.

No, I did not show up in my usual slovenly appearance. I showered before hand. I wore a nice shirt (though it is frayed in a few places) and wore a pair of khakis that are frayed, look like shit and are too long and big for me, so they keep falling down. However, I did wear nice shoes (not my regular shoes that are falling apart) and black socks. Had I not just shaved my head recently for unrelated reasons, who knows what my hair would have looked like, but that was not a concern. Quite a few of the guys getting CALIs showed up in a suit and tie, looking immaculate.

A part of me feels bad for not treating this like a big deal. For most people, getting a CALI is a big deal, and it should be. It is not easy. Sadly, my 153 LSAT and inability to write a decent personal statement left me at this school, and while I do (or more accurately, did) bust my ass, to me, this is all inconsequential. I have more demons to fight than a CALI can shield. But for others, it truly is a great accomplishment. A part of me feels like I cheapen this for others when I show up like I do not care and leave with a wheelbarrow of CALIs.

Maybe I should turn this around, all those who CALIed classes with me in them should feel even better about their achievement. Maybe? Can that happen? I got kind of pissed that I did not CALI a couple of classes, but I suppose it happens (for instance, one class I had last semester, I finished the exam with over an hour left. I considered revising and adding to my answers, but did not feel like it because the Prof. wrote some shitty exam questions. If he cannot put forth a good faith effort to test me, why should I bother to put forth a better than good faith effort to answer? I still got an A-, but I hate being talked down to. I am much more pleased with the exam that was impossible that I ended up with an A- on).

So you probably think I am an asshole right about now (and you would be right, but at least I know it right?) but let me close out this post with a nice anecdote. Back a couple years before I went to law school, I was working a night job. It was a seasonal position, and I was in charge of operations (jointly with another guy), but for all intents and purposes I was a temp. I would be let go at the end of the summer, just like all the guys I supervised. But this job involved very intense operations in the two weeks leading up to July 4th (we worked hard to make your picnics more comfortable). These two weeks involved long hours by everyone, grunts and supervisors combined (by this I mean that everyone in the company got involved in the normal operations, not just the seasonal workers). But my crew would work 11-14 hours days, depending on how things went. Each grunt would head out in a truck, do their assignments, and come back, and invariably, if they got back before 4 am I would send them out to do more work (imagine coming in after working 10 hours only to have your super demand you do more work, the night after you worked 14 hours).

So anyway, July 3rd was usually a pretty short night. So that night, I decided to do something nice for my guys. The bosses did not give a shit about how hard they worked, or the shit they put up with from me (most of them liked me, but I would just keep pushing them). So I told my co-super, after the crew had gone out for the night, that I was going to order a bunch of pizzas for the guys. He asked me why, and I said because it would be nice. Make them feel appreciated. A small gesture can boost morale (god knows the bosses did nothing to boost morale, they were too busy bitchin’ about what they had to do). Since the 3rd was a slow night, I did not have to worry about any bosses being around, checking in, or harassing us in anyway, so I ordered a bunch of pizzas and paid the man when he arrived (it was about $60. Considering I made over 2.5 grand (gross) in those two weeks (much more than a member of the crew would get because I was there from start to finish (and I made more than them)) it was nothing).

Sure the pizza was cold when they came back, but what did they care. Though, they would invariably ask where it came from. My response, “It just showed up around 11.” I have no clue if any of them believed it, but they were all too tired to inquire further. If they thought it came from the higher-ups that is great. Better for the company. I had no stake in this, it just felt good to do something for these guys.

Of course, if I really did not want recognition for this, then why am I telling you?

Opening Day

2007-03-30T22:08:00.002-05:00

. . . Is Monday, but I could not wait. A little video clip to get you fired up for Monday.

(by the way, everyone knows that the season starts when the Reds pitcher throws out the first ball. This Sunday Night bullshit is just that.)

Overheard in Law Review

2007-03-26T23:14:00.001-05:00

As my group is working on our technical galley (checking the cites in the footnotes) in the law review office, another publication editor walks into the room:

Other Editor: "[Tim] ([my publication editor]), I have a question for your group. [Cue some boring ass-shit about how to site an id. in reference to a bunch of statutes, and a couple responses.] O.K. thanks, that helps. How is your article going?"

Tim: "Eh, you know, it pretty much sucks."

Group: Laughs and nods in agreement.

Other Editor: "How many footnotes do you have?"

Tim: "Oh, about 350."

Other Editor: "Yeah that sucks, we have 305. It fucking sucks."

Group: Nods in agreement.

Me: [after a couple beats] "Oh, so tell me what you really think of my comment."

[Awkward silence]

[Still silent. I should mention, that no one gets my sense of humor. I deliver everything in a nice monotone, and have an extremely dry sense of humor, so people who do not know me (which is virtually everyone) do not know when I am making a joke (actually no one ever knows when I make a funny).]

Other Editor (who is in charge of editing my comment): "Oh, well, [backpedaling] I mean its good, its just . . . umm . . .

Me: "I was just kidding."

I should not have let him off so easy. It would be nice if one could get a straight answer sometime. I am tired of this "It Depends" bullshit. (for instance, if I was not in the room, my comment would royally suck, but when I am there, it is alright).

How Depressing

2007-03-26T21:38:00.002-05:00

I just looked at the front page for ESPNU, and these are the headlines:

And it does not even mention the UNC mascot dying.

Seriously, WTF?

A Moment of Reflection Part 2

2007-03-26T20:15:00.002-05:00

Part 1

Part 2 was going to be expansive (and eloquent) dissection of the law school experience. "The Path of the Law" to quote Holmes, and the pitfalls of thinking that getting a JD is the answer to the proverbial question of "What should I do with my life?" These are important questions, and I decided to take some time to fully formulate my point view. If I was billing for the amount of time I thought about this since last Wednesday, I would have no need to take out a private loan next year. There is a lot of time to just think when you spend 11 hours driving in two days. So I was getting ready to espouse brilliance and caution into the blogosphere when . . .

Those bastages over at Barely Legal decide to update their blog for the first time in months over the weekend. Long story short, the lightning that my post was set to ignite, will not have its thunder heard for weeks, or months, or ever. So if you check out that site (as I am sure you all religiously do), you will pretty much get the point of what I was going write here.

However, there are some pretty important distinctions, which I will address now (there is no point in reprinting my entire e-mail to my sis, so I will hit the high points).

The e-mail from my sis stated that she was thinking about attending law school part-time. My response began with this query, To start with, why do you want to go law school?

This is the threshold question. Failure to provide an appropriate response to this, and the inquiry ends. In lawyer terms, for a court to hear a case, there must be a controversy. However, you will never hear a court explicitly state that a controversy exists, unless the decision is based on those grounds, and it is not that it is overlooked, it just becomes implicit. In determining why to go to law school, a prospective student will formulate a reason why, without digging deeper. The why becomes implicit and shoved into the background, to be forgotten until you become a 2L, with a chance to think, "Where are we going?" (or for you latin aficionados, Quo Vadimus).

The same arguments can be advocated for Undergrad. I have no reason for going to college other than it seemed like the next logical step. There is no why, it is just the next step. Law School should never be the next step without a clearly defined goal, whether it is being the next Vincent Bugliosi, Henry Hyde, or Frank Easterbrook (while understanding the road each path takes), or a just the desire to work for Legal Aid. Whatever the goal is, before going to law school, it should be clearly defined.

My sister told me that she had a desire to do something with IP finance, so I wrote to her that there had to be a better way to prepare herself for a career in IP issues without going to law school. Hell, a nice week long seminar could probably sum up the most important issues in IP law, or at least how it relates to what she wants to do.

Other than the poor reason for attending law school, I railed against attending law school part-time. What I did not mention in my e-mail, is possibly the best reason: The fact that when attending full-time you can go out drinking on a Wednesday night, then stay up until 5:30 a.m. arguing all sorts of semantics, and sleep through your nine o'clock class because you still have a couple absences to give. How would want to give this up? What I focused on in my writing to my sis was the burden she would have.

First, it is about five years to graduate i think. That is a lot of shot weekends. Second, with one or two, three hour classes a week, there is going to be a lot of reading. The general rule is for each hour in class, it is three outside of class. At least the first year. So if you take six credits (two classes, I am not sure exactly how many you would take), that is 18 hours (at least), for a total of 24, plus work. 64 hours in toto a week is not too bad.

I harken back to my first year, when I studied my ass off. Reading cases two or three times, and briefing them. That first year is a tough one. I could not imagine the first year lasting two years. The rigors of the first year provide a substantial benefit. You come to understand the process, how to read a case, whether or not you like it, you are learning to think like a lawyer. It becomes easier, but that first year is tough.

I could not imagine working full-time, going to law school part-time, and dealing with all this bullshit for the first time. You got to want it pretty bad. Which brings us full circle, back to the why.

Barely Legal penned a series of bad reasons to attend law school (I am too lazy to find the links, but it is around April '06 (I think), and I generally agree with them. Money, prestige, thinking one man can make a difference, are all too pretentious for but a few of us. Pragmatic reasons grounded in thoughtful decision-making are much more pertinent. Those reasons, are personal to everyone, and I will not bother to make a list.

I suppose now would be the time for me to list my reasons for attending law school, but I do not feel like it. They are still valid, and I still think I made the right decision (though feel free to ask if that holds true a year from now), and I am comfortable with that.

So, as for my moment of reflection, I am not ready to aim that mirror on myself just yet, but I will happily point it in your direction.

A Moment of Reflection Part 1

2007-03-22T00:07:00.002-05:00

So, my iPod just crapped out on me. My computer decided that it did not want to transfer songs to it anymore. I blame my computer, because it is a piece of shit, and not my iPod, which fucking rules. So, I had to restore my iPod, which means erasing everything and loading everything back onto it. However, after I erased, iTunes popped up a question that gave me pause.

It asked me to name my iPod.

My iPod already had a name, and now, I had the privilege of deciding whether or not to rename it. I could have stuck with the old name, its original name (though I never refer to it by this name, it has always been "My iPod," which may be a bit derogatory, but since my iPod cannot think, it is not protected by the 14th amendment), or picked a new, more relevant name. For instance, if you have a baby and name it "Stan," that may be perfectly appropriate at the time, but after a month or two, you may think that a better name would be "spit-up monster that just won't shut-up." I suppose it is a good thing that we get only one chance to name our kids.

But since my iPod was never birthed out of something I had intimate contact with, I feel that a name change is possible. Because the first time I plugged my iPod into my computer, I had to name it, so I came up with the thing that was on my mind at the time.

"Donkey Porn"

O.K., that was not it. I have never willingly looked at donkey porn before in my life. No, I bought my iPod back in the summer of aught four, when I was full of promise, my whole life ahead of me, and my head full of chemicals. At some point that summer, I had made the decision to go to law school, come hell or high water (had I known either would be better . . .). So at that time my life was focused on the future. Certainly, it was not on the present. I was working a blue collar job, a night job, where I had some authority, but no real responsibility. Plus a kick ass salary (hey $14+ an hour to surf the web was pretty good pay, as I "supervised" a bunch of guys). Sadly, that was not good enough for me, and I had my heart set on law school. Though it was about three months before I could start applying, I was focused on getting in.

So after the July 4th week, when I had worked 160 hours in two weeks, I decided to splurge, thanks to all of the overtime I had worked. And that resulted in the iPod I currently own, hell, when you are working $400 does not seem like that much money.

So back to the point, I named my iPod "Law School Bitch." I forgot the comma, it was supposed to be "Law School, Bitch" as in, I am going to go to law school in spite of you iPod. See, despite my 153 on the LSAT, I fully intended to make law school my bitch, and thankfully, my lack of any meaningful life experience combined with my inability to sell a damn thing (i.e. my personal statement) resulted in me only being accepted to a handful of schools, none of which has ever produced a Supreme Court justice (and maybe a handful of federal appellate judges) (what I am getting at is that I had a choice between crap #1, crap #2 and crap #3). This however, did enable me to make law school my bitch. I was looking over my transcript tonight, and I was like damn, what the hell am I doing here (the main reason I did not transfer was because I wanted two years on law review, screw what the firms want, that is something that I wanted).

So enough with the self-congratulatory bullshit (what is this, the Oscars?), the point is, I had to decide whether or not to rename my iPod. When I got the damn thing, law school was the goal, but now, I have no clue what my goal is. I could fail every class I still have to take and end up with a C GPA (remember, law school is front-loaded in the first year, and you get no credit when you fail a class, I think, I should check on that). So I know I can do well here, that is no longer a goal. I will be published in my school's law review journal, so that is no longer a goal. The three things I wanted to accomplish when I went to law school have been done (granted getting a good job is not something that really was a goal, I figured 1+2+3=6 figures, but I am not close to that).

Back when I named my iPod, I saw my future. Now, I am not sure what I see. So I regret going to law school? I do not think so, there was not much going on for me when I made the decision to go to law school. But all of that was put into perspective when my older sister e-mailed me saying, " hey brother, I need your advice on law school. do you think I could go part-time and do a good job?"

My response coming, some point in the future

Defining "Sucks"

2007-03-06T06:52:00.002-06:00

As I type this it is nearly 5 a.m. My comment was due yesterday, but the editors allowed us to have an additional couple of days to make sure they are "perfect." So really, it is due Wednesday morning. But mine was finished on time. It was done. All I had to do was ensure that my cites were correct, that I was Id.ing properly, and that all my sources did, in fact, exist.

Should have been easy right? Well it was.

Enter the government. Or the damn government as I will call it. Damn it decides to issue a short report (which I discovered around 11 p.m.) that pretty much endorses all of my arguments. Now, because this is available, I am going to have to cite it, and all of sudden, I am not [specific industry] genius, but rather an unoriginal copycat.

So now I have to revise (or really add to make mention of and quote the report) a bunch of my footnotes to include this report, as well as note it in numerous places throughout my paper.

I would not care so much if I was just handing in my final draft for law review credit. Unfortunately, my comment was chosen for publication (and the deadline is so that the comment can get an independent galley review), so I pretty much have to care about what information is included, because, god forbid, some person may read it one day.

Update: It is now around 9 p.m. on Tuesday night. My comment is finished. I have been up since 12:30 Monday afternoon. Yep, you know what that means, Time to start Drinking!!!

Update #2: It is now 1 a.m. I surpassed my goal of being up for 36 straight hours. I think that is pretty good. I am not a marine, I am just a man. Well, something less than a man; I am trying to be a lawyer after all.

Things That Could Have Been Brought To My Attention YESTERDAY

2007-03-01T23:16:00.002-06:00

So after a hard day of doing pretty much nothing, I went to bed at 10 a.m. and got up around 3 p.m., which happened to be quite frustrating, I decided I needed a cool refreshing beverage. You know, to help me sleep. Contrary to what my life would indicate, I really do not like going to bed long after the sun has risen. So I went to the local Kwik-E-Mart around midnight (the one across from the law school since I unfortunately had to spend some time there tonight) and picked up some cool refreshing Rolling Rock. I then went to check out because, when you get down to it, stealing is just wrong, and waited for five minutes while the cashier was trying to find the birthdate on the ID of the guy in front me. I figured this would be just great, my out of state ID would make it impossible for the rocket scientist behind the counter to find my birthdate.

I got the front of the line, and calmly handed my ID to the clerk. He looked at it for two seconds, handed it back, and said matter of factly, "I can't sell this to you. It is expired." Then he grabbed my beer and threw it on the back counter while I, dumbfoundedly, looked at my license and said, "Whaaaaaaaaa??"

So my license expired two weeks ago, I think I lost the automatic renewal form, and now I cannot buy beer at the gas station across the law street. Thankfully though, I usually go buy my sleep aid at another gas station, and they know me, so I still got my stuff tonight.

Also, I was editing my comment today, and guess what? You can have automatic cross references. Yep, no one told me this. So I had to go through my finished freaking article and make them all automatic (that would be all the supra n. X's). So if you ever write a document with footnotes, remember that. Because I had no freaking clue, and it was a bitch to fix them all. Took me a freaking hour (I had to do this. My editor told me to).

And while trying to edit my paper, I was trying to listen to my iPod. But the earphones I bought for $9.99 are a piece of shit, not only the way they sound, but they also like to transmit static. I have to adjust the plug every two minutes. Why didn't anyone tell me that earphones you buy for $9.99 are not worth the plastic they are molded in?

And before that happened, I was planning on going to the law school so I could consult Redbook. But when I wanted to leave, it was freaking pouring. No one told me it was going to rain today. That pissed me off, but at least I was able to put off work for a couple hours (and no, I am not a pussy, I just do not trust my "waterproof" computer case and do not own an umbrella).

And even before that, as I was laying in bed at five a.m. and came across a show on A&E that informed me that Mary Magdalene was not a prostitute, but rather a bored rich woman who fucked for the sheer joy of it, not for money. Apparently some scrolls were found in Egypt that refutes the common thought about her. I never trusted a bible written by white men, that was passed on through talking for several centuries, but now my head hurts thinking about this.

So to recap, I am driving around on an expired license, wasted an hour doing clerical work, my iPod is only worth as much as the headphones that are used, was in danger of getting wet, and have had all my thoughts on God cast into doubt. I think I need to spend more time reading and less time watching reruns of Scrubs, The Simpsons, and Yes Dear.

A Kroger Love Story Part 2

2007-02-25T21:45:00.002-06:00

Part 1

I heard it moments before the manager called me into his office. Tom had been walking around, and heard the gossip, soon to be confirmed by the manager. He informed me that Bertha and Billy had had a big fight the night before, and Bertha informed Billy that she was in love in with me. SHE WAS IN LOVE WITH ME!!!

I was floored by this revelation. A wet noodle could have knocked me over. A feather duster, a sombrero, a dishrag, hell even a drop of water could have knocked me on my ass. I did not even like this woman. All I did was give her a passing acknowledgment when words passed through her lips. Not to mention the fact that she was a solid 15 years older than me. I would not have given her the time of day had she passed me on the street. I don’t think that I was even that nice to her. I just said the occasional, “yep,” “uh-huh,” or “that’s great.” Was she so starved for attention that this was all she needed to fall in love with someone?

As I said, moments after I found out that I had unwittingly broken up a marriage, the manager called me into his office, and basically confirmed the rumor. Bertha had broken up with Billy because she was in love with me. The manager then proceeded to tell me that what I did on my own time was none of his business, just so long as it did not interfere with work. Had I not been so shell-shocked, I would have made it clear that I never so much as touched Bertha (OK, so maybe I brushed up against her tits once, but it was an accident). Still numb, I left his office with the knowledge that it does not pay to be nice.

The story is not done there though. All this happened within the first two and half hours of my shift. I still had half of it let to go. The rest of the day was filled with Kroger employees from every department casually walking by, peering into the Deli to see who had caused the latest drama. I wanted to hold up a sign saying, “I HATED BERTHA. SHE IS AN IDIOT. I NEVER DID ANYTHING. SHE IS READING INTO THINGS THAT ARE NOT THERE.” I did not get a chance however, as there were a lot of people asking for Lorraine Swiss Cheese that day.

The coup de grâce came about 20 minutes before closing time. A man and woman walked up to the Deli counter. Trying to put the whole thing behind me and be a cheery Kroger employee, I asked if there was anything I could help them with. They said, “Do you know [lawschoolrules]?” I said that was me. The man said, “Well its nice to see who that bitch left my brother for” and walked away. “Oh Fuck,” was the only thing I could think. That brief exchange taught me a very important lesson.

The next twenty minutes were anxiety ridden. The only thing I could think about was how many guys would be hiding behind my car waiting to break my legs. Would it just be Billy? Billy’s Brother? Both? Does Billy have more friends or brothers or uncles or nephews or bothers-in-law? They knew what I looked like. I had one saving grace though, Tom. I figured Tom would be there to help me out, he was a good guy, he would certainly escort me to my car.

Nope. As soon as the clock hit 10 he was gone. I don’t think he even said goodbye. Just punched out and left. As I wrapped up the corned beef I began thinking about how much a tire iron to the knee would hurt. I wondered if I had the balls to scream, “RAPE!!” But I sucked it up; I left the store with no escort, no gun, no brass knuckles, no nothing but my own fear. I walked out of the automatic doors and saw no one waiting in the shadows. I pressed on, my fists clenched ready to start swinging at anyone who came near. I made it to my car without any trouble, but knew that there was still a chance for violence. I got, started the car up, and drove away without incident. I was relieved, after all it had been the second time in my life I had been presented with the fact that I might get my ass kicked in a parking lot (the first time required sweet talk since the angry people were actually there).

The repercussions of this day were few. I quit shortly thereafter, partly because of this, and partly because of something else, which I cannot talk about (the Bar would have my ass). I occasionally ran into some of my other co-workers (at the time this happened my friend had already quit), and learned that Bertha and Billy had worked things out. So, officially I did not unwittingly break up a marriage, I just nearly unwittingly broke up a marriage. It was close I am sure, but God has plenty of other reasons to send me to Hell. I did see Bertha about a year later. I was doing some late night shopping at the Kroger and she was working the register. She did not acknowledge me, and I did not acknowledge her. But she looked pretty much the same, and it was at that point that I decided to never be nice to anyone ever again.

A Kroger Love Story Part 1

2007-02-23T21:00:00.002-06:00

I wrote this a long time ago, and am just posting it now, so do not judge it too harshly.

There are probably several stories from my younger days that are worth telling. However this is the one I want to tell. Just as Mike from Barely Legal Blog worked at Kroger, I did so too. However, I do not have ten stories to tell, just one (though I was wearing the polo that Mike instituted).

It was so long ago, I cannot even remember what year it was. I think it was the fall semester of my sophomore year in college, when I came to be employed by the Kroger in my college town. A friend of mine had recently begun working in the Deli there, and told me it was an easy job and they were hiring. Me needing money to pay those older than me to procure beer for me, decided that the Deli at Kroger’s was the perfect job. I quickly set about filling out an application and was hired (I think there may have been an interview, but who knows). I naively figured that this would be a good chance to hang out with a friend of mine, and getting paid to do so. This assumption turned out to be erroneous quite quickly. We both worked at night, but since we were both part-time, we were generally paired with a full-timer, and thus worked on different nights. Apparently there were some people in town who felt that working in the Deli at the Kroger was a career. After all, there were Union benefits (biting my tongue).

I generally spent my three nights a week working with Bertha. Bertha was a regular townie. She looked the part and acted the part. She was maybe a hair over five feet, but weighed a good 150 lbs. (a solid two ‘poons). She also had a nice pair of coke bottle glasses. In other words, the three-month old honey ham was more appetizing than her. While we worked together, she talked incessantly, not really to me (or so I thought), but at me. I usually grunted a reply, but because I was too nice a guy I could not tell her to shut her hole. She would yammer on, and I would say things like “yup,” “MMM-Hmmm,” “that’s interesting,” “wow,” “huh,” and “cool.”

To this day, I have no idea what she was talking about 90% of the time, but in the three months I was there, she told me one story twice; How she found her husband. From what I could decipher, one day Bertha decided she needed a husband. To accomplish this monumental task, she set up three dates. The details of the first date escape my memory, but it probably involved the guy seeing her, excusing himself from the table, and fleeing through the bathroom window. At the second date, the guy did not show up, even though Bertha was to pick him up at his home. But, as Bertha told me, she had a great time with his parents. Apparently, this guy still lived with his folks, and then skipped out to prevent meeting her, and his parents were forced to deal with her. According to Bertha, they were very nice folks (which I do not dispute, there were some folks around these parts that are salt of the earh), and she proceeded to hang out with them for a few hours.

Fortunately, on the third date Bertha struck gold. She met her soul-mate, Billy. Three dates was all it took to find love. If only that could work for us white-collars. Anyway, when Bertha met Billy sparks flew and they each knew that the other was the one. After all, Bertha worked in the Deli and Billy worked in the Meat Department, both at Kroger. It was a match made in heaven, or at least a recipe from the Kroger Bakery. After what was probably an exciting and eventful courtship, Bertha and Billy got married.

However, shortly after I began working in the Deli with Bertha, they began going through some problems. Unbelievably the marriage began to fall apart. This of course, was completely unknown to me, because I never listen to what people have to say. Had Bertha said something to me, I probably would have grunted. Of course, that may have happened, and Bertha found my grunt to be the sexiest thing ever. Because I came into work one day, and Bertha was scheduled, but no where to be seen.

With Bertha gone, a kid my age, (but not in school, though a cool guy nonetheless) named Tom was forced to stay late and work with me. As I recall, I was scheduled to come in an hour before Bertha, so after about an hour and a half of hard Deli work, the word began to trickle down. Bertha and Billy broke up. They had a huge fight the previous night, and no one knew where Bertha was. I, of course, did not care, I was more concerned about who would help me close up the Deli that night. I spent the better part of an hour convincing Tom to stay and help me close up. I talked him into staying until closing time, though not until closing procedures were completed, but that was good enough for me. Then the bombshell came.

To be continued….

Oblivious of the Past

2007-02-19T21:19:00.002-06:00

So I am taking Tax class this semester, which is important I suppose because I will have a tax related job this summer. I was excited to take tax class. I recall one of the 3L’s telling me that [Tax Prof] is a fucking tax god. So you can see why I was excited. I had had [Tax Prof] for a differently similar class my first year, and he spent half of each class talking about the tax code, so I thought that this class would be great.

Of course, two things should have tipped me off. First, I took Federal Income Tax as an undergrad, and it nearly turned me off tax forever. There was a 90 year old guy teaching the class, who did not seem to care about anything. Tenure to the extreme. This class was also held at 8 a.m. on Wednesdays and Fridays. Yeah, this was not a good time for me. I was a sophomore living off campus, in a kick ass house (not a frat house, a normal house) in a town that delivered beer without asking for I.D. Needless to say, sophomore year was when I learned that Thursday was the first day of the weekend. Aside from skipping half of my classes, I learned that Tax did not appeal to my analytical brain.

Oh as an aside, a funny story about tax. There was a kid in my undergrad tax class, let us call him Pete, who skipped class more than I did. I happened to be in class the day that groups were assigned for our big end of the semester group project. We got to pick our groups so I got stuck with the other two kids who had no friends, well they were not that bad, but who am I to complain? Anyway, we set up a time to meet on a Saturday morning to go over the big end of the semester project, which in actuality was the preparation of a tax return according to all the rules, none us learned because the Prof’s false teeth made it difficult for him to enunciate. Anyway, the Friday night before the group meeting, I am out on the town, getting shit-faced and I run into Pete. We start talking about Tax class, and I learn that he has no group. Fucked up as I am, I tell him he should join my group. I tell him we are meeting at 10 am on Saturday, at [Address of this kid in the group]. He says thank you, and I continue on with the over-indulgence. I wake up the next morning to a throbbing in my head, that turns out to be half the hangover and half the alarm that has been going off for 45 minutes. So I throw on the clothes I wore the night before, after all they were at the foot of my bed, and head on out. I get to Steve’s apartment (the kid in my group whose apartment we agreed to meet at), and knock on the door while smoking a cigarette. He answers the door and says that I cannot smoke that inside, I understand, and fling it out into the street and enter the house (he had a little porch). I walk into Kevin’s apartment, and get an immediate sense of déjà vu. This was the first time I realized that all the apartments in the same complex looked exactly the same. Same layout, kitchen, counter, fridge, stove, carpet, and poorly laid out load bearing walls. It made me a bit disoriented, but not as disoriented as when I saw Pete sitting on the couch.

“Whoa, do you live with Kevin?” Was my first thought, that I did not say. Pete could not live with Kevin. What the hell was Pete doing here? I could not figure it out. Surely you can, because you have read this story, but my poor memory combined with enough booze to kill a midget had caused me to forget completely that I had invited him here, and without anyone else in the group even knowing. “You told me to come,” Pete said sensing my confusion. My bloodshot eyes took a glance over at Kevin (I had worked with him on a group project for another class and he knew that I was a bit of a wildcard) and he just kind of shrugged at me, as if to say, three minds are better than two, even if two of the minds are you and Pete.

So we sat around for a while, actually waiting for the fourth member of the group, who was not so much of a fuck-up as he was stupider than a pile of manure. However, it was a great excuse to put off getting started on the work. So I went out to smoke, and Kevin, not a smoker, came out too. I am not sure why Kevin came out, maybe so I would not burn his plants. But anyway, I get halfway through my smoke when the fourth member of the motley crew shows up. Realizing that it is time to get to work, I flick the half-smoked cig into the street, or at least I thought so. As we head inside, we hear this chick yell, “The Cigarette Is Burning the Shrubs.” What, I think. Who cares, there is fucking snow on the ground, and it will not burn shit. But Kevin gets a little paranoid, and heads back out the door. The girl yells out again, “It is still burning!!” Whatever I think, but look into the shrubbery to see if anything is burning. I see nothing. Suddenly a girl appears, and stamps out my cigarette as it lies in the street burning next to the sewer drain I had aimed for. I am tempted to yell out something about how she is a hippie, but alas, I am too hung-overly drunk to be witty. After all, it is tax time.

So we go through the problem, finish it, and turn it in. A few classes later, the old man hobbles up to the front of the room to let us know how we did. Every group, there was probably ten, had come up with a different answer. And only one group got the “right” answer. It was not my group. I was pissed. What the fuck kind of law is this shit where 45 different college educated students could get a different answer based on the same fact pattern? And more importantly, how could I have not gotten the right answer? To be fair, our groups Gross Income was less than the correct answer, and based on the frequency of IRS audits (<1%) I would say that my group’s answer, while not right, was the better answer.

And then I took the final, and apparently the old man did not agree with me about having a better answer than the right answer. I got a B-, the second worst grade I had ever received in my life (Once I figure out the difference between macro and micro economics I will tell you why I got a C (including an F on the midterm) for one and a B+ (because I got nothing less than a 92% on any exam, but I skipped so many classes that it drove my grade down so far that the Prof said that if I got a 95% on the final, I could get an A. I decided it was not worth it) for the other).

So if undergrad is the first reason I should I have been apprehensive, the second reason is the sheer size of the Tax class in law school. I was pretty much the last person eligible to register for any class this semester and I got into it. Needless to say, Tax is a popular class. There are 200 people in there if there is one (didn’t I learn anything about this cliché?). The sheer enormity of it makes it impossible to care. When the Prof is willing to cater to the lowest common denominator, then there is not much to do but surf the web in class.

I may have gotten a B- in undergrad tax class, but I still know the basic concepts. And Law Tax is based solely around basic concepts. Because you do not have to be an accountant to get tax law. You have to be a lawyer. All that tax class has become is a guide through the code and the regs. The only thing I am learning is where to find the particular law. It is pathetic. I was so excited about this class. I had hoped it would change my life; reinvigorate my interest in accounting (which was my major), but it has utterly failed to do so.

But on the bright side, well . . . I do not know, fuck the bright side. I am a pessimist. Once I get an A in the class I will worry about whether or not I learned anything.

Of course, the Prof is always pointing out that his accounting students never do as well as they think they will. This sounds like a challenge to me. Ahhh, if only I cared.

Back, maybe

2007-02-15T10:26:00.002-06:00

I was debating whether or not to post here ever again. I am still in law school and still have one year left, after I finish this semester. So I should still have at least 18 months of interesting stuff to tell (at least in theory). The problem was, would I tell it? It has been almost two months since my last post. I do not know where to go with that, it is just fact. No genuine issue there. I could easily just forget about this blog and all the irrelevant things I have had to say to the people that never read this thing. So the question is, have I lost my desire to write? The answer is a resounding no. Shit, I have spent the last two months writing (and editing and revising and researching and editing and writing and checking my galleys and reading and then reading some more and then doing more research and then writing some more and then editing a little bit followed by editing some more, though it really was not much editing; my wirting is perfect as is).

But it is not just my public that has been neglected. I looked through my cell phone. My last out-call before today was to the Chinese place for food delivery on Jan. 25. Before that (minus some calls to my parents about some legal troubles (fyi my troubles), stay tuned) was a call to accept a job offer on Dec. 29. That is pretty pathetic even for me. But on the plus side, I did write a kick ass comment for law review. So I got that going for me.

So why did I start writing again? (bear in mind, this is one entry and further entries are not guaranteed). I don’t know. Call it a compulsion. Call it nothing better to do now. Call it now that I am done with my comment, I have no idea what to do with myself and I need a reason to get out of bed because going to class just ain’t cutting it anymore (though I am fond of cutting class, though they do not really call it that anymore).

I do have some trepidations though. I do not want to shut down for a few months again. It seems that ever since my third semester started, I stopped writing. There was a post here, and another one over there, but never as regularly as when I first started. So just know, I am not guaranteeing any number of posts a week, but hopefully, it will be regularly.

So, enough with the boring disclaimer, let us get to what you all came for. Stories about me being a retard. So without further ado:

You may recall my last post. I think it said something about how it was the last day of finals and debauchery would soon ensue. I have said some prophetic things in my day, but that probably takes the cake. I wrote that post just before I went out for the night (I had internet in my house then, stolen or borrowed, whatever, I had it).

So I went to this party. I am not the most social person, but when I have had a few I can interact with most people, so long as I do not have to talk to them for too long and I can take a break every now and then. So the party was going along swimmingly, there was a keg, which is nice, and then suddenly, a bunch of cop cars show up outside. There was 8 if there was a dozen (hmm, bad cliché, there was maybe five or six cop cars). They just sat there, and we continued to have a good time. And of course, good times mean loud times. Add 20 minutes and several more beers equals louder times.

From what I can gather, cops do not like noise, even though they have those sirens on their cars. Apparently, the cops stormed the porch, and people stampeded inside, leaving a few unfortunate souls outside to deal with them. I was inside at the time, and quite inebriated. I got the gist of what was going on when the host said, “Shut up and get inside everyone, the cops are here. Be Quiet!” I asked the esteemed drunken host what the hell was going on, and I can only assume that he gave me an unsatisfactory answer.

Had I received a satisfactory answer, I surely would not have done what I did next.

Pissed off that some ornery cops would ruin the good time of a bunch of law students who had just suffered through two weeks of hell (first semester of second year still means something, I suppose), I decided to figure out what the hell was going on. I first tried the front door, but it was locked from the inside, and when I unlocked it, a cop on the porch told me to go back inside. This, of course, infuriated me. Why did it infuriate me? Probably for the same reason that I felt the need to defend my fellow students who were being subjected to the tyranny of the city police. I was drunk. There is no rational reason. In retrospect, I should have stayed inside, after all, the meek will inherit the Earth. Right? No, even now I would do the same thing that I was about to do. Was it a bad idea? Sure it was. I do not deny that. Were those folks on the porch capable of standing up for themselves? Probably, but even Mike Tyson had people in his corner when he boxed in the Olympics. Can you turn a blind eye to injustice? Most of the people at that party did, but I did not (or they were not so fucked up that they did not see an injustice or conversely, they were so fucked up they did not see an injustice).

So, because I am so damn altruistic (this is not the word I want to use, I need a word that says I believe that there is good in everyone (even Darth Vader, but I do not think believing in the force helps with the vocab situation going on here), help please), I figured that once I got on the porch and explained everything to the cops, they would see that they were being unreasonable and leave us the hell alone. But the front door was blocked, so I needed an alternate route. Thankfully, I had spent much of the party wandering around the house getting to know the lay of the land (people do not bother you much when you are walking around during a party if you look like you know where you are going). From my wanderings, I knew that I could exit out the back door, head around the house, and climb up onto the porch. So I did, and with a full cup of beer. Here is what happened (as best I can recall):

ME: What is going on here?
Cop#1: We have it taken care of.
ME: No, I want to know what is going on out here.
Cop#1: Just go back inside, this does not concern you.
ME: No, look, I am just curious what is going on out here, I want to figure this out. Ok, Ok, I know, wait, let me just do this.

[I pour my beer out over the porch railing into the shrubs]

ME: Ok, can we have a dialogue here now?
Cop#1: Go. Back. Inside.

[I see a cop in an intense conversation with a law student on the porch. The student looks upset]

ME: Are you charging anyone with anything here?
Cop#2: [gives me a look of contempt] Yes, public intoxication.
ME: What?
Cop#2: Public Intox.
ME: Are you kidding me?
Cop#2: What?

[I give Cop#2 a mixed look of pity and contempt for not understanding the law]

ME: Public Intox? They are on a porch.
Cop#2: Yeah . . .
ME: This is private property.
Cop#2: See that house over there [points across the street]. They can see you. That
makes it public.
ME: Are you serious? [I have lost all composure] We are on a porch. So wait, you are telling me, that if the people across the street . . . [I point to a window bordering the porch] If the shades were up on this window, and the people across the street could see me . . .
Cop#2: [Icy cold stare]
ME: inside the house and I was drunk, that would be a public intox? That does not make sense. There are . . .

[Cop#2 springs into action. He takes two steps, spins me around, and puts my hands behind my back. Smooth to, he must have practiced. He pushes (not really pushes, I do not know how to describe it because he is leading me, but he is behind me, guides maybe?) me down the stairs. My mind starts racing, more so than before. “He has not read me my Miranda Rights, so he cannot be arresting, but he is surely restricting my free movement. Actually, he does not need to read me my rights, because if he is right and I can be publicly intoxicated on a porch, then he has all the evidence he needs, except for a breathalyzer to prove I am in fact drunk, though I know I am.”

He pushes me off the stairs and towards the direction of a cop car. He leans me against the trunk, and frisks me. “Is this a Terry stop? No it is not, he has probable cause to frisk me, so I cannot argue that in court,” I think to myself. He takes my phone and my wallet, and opens the back door of the cop car and asks me to get in. I do. “Ahhh, you cold hard plastic seats, it has been six years since I felt your cold emotionless essence on my ass. By the way, you seats are very uncomfortable,” I say to the seats after Cop#2 closes the door.

So there I am, in the back of a cop car, again. My mind starts racing through what I learned from Criminal Law and Criminal Procedure. Unfortunately, none of the cases focused on Public Intox on a porch. I think to what is “public.” Curtilage comes to mind, but I think that cops can search it if they have probable cause. Nothing like a crisis to fuck up the head. Hell, I got my second worst grade in Crim. Pro. and now here I am. Fuck Karma. Two deep breaths, I am not going anywhere for a while, make the most of it. I take out my pack of cigarettes and rip off the top. I pull out my pen, the cop did not take that, and start making notes on the cigarette box top. “Porch, Public? Look Into. Intox? No proof. Breathalyzer—not yet. Porch, not public area. § 1983, unlawful detainment. Lost Liberty. No Movement. Stuck in Cop Car for ___ min. Sue the Fuckers.”

After I finished my notes, roughly ten minutes or so after I was denied my freedom, I spied another officer walking by the car. I started to knock on the window.]

ME: [knock, knock, knock]
Cop#3: [opens the door] Do NOT pound on the window.
ME: But I was just . . .

[Cop#3 slams door shut]

ME: wondering if I was under arrest. Asshole. I will have your badge. You cannot hear me, but you know you are fucking up as we speak. You cannot arrest me for this shit. I did nothing wrong. A porch is not a public place fucker. Your actions have just confirmed that I am under arrest. You know what that means right asshole? Section 1983. My rights have been violated and they will be vindicated by a court allowing me taking your badge and shove it up your ass. You think you know what you are dealing with? Fucker you don’t have a clue. This will be the end of you. [Yes, I am a little drunk.

Now, I am stewing on the hard plastic seats. It does not seem so romantic anymore. I start investigating the cop car. There is a shotgun in the front seat, but alas, the plastic guard is closed, besides it would be a bad idea to take the gun. A very bad idea. Like you will end up dead bad idea. I check out his computer. Seriously, I have been here 20 minutes and the fucker has no screen saver? Even flying toasters would bring a smile to my face right now. I check back seat, nothing here but a receipt. That is not exciting, but makes me wonder who else has been in this back seat. Was an alleged murderer here before me? Would that receipt prove that he did not do it? I fucking hope not, because it is lost now.

Cop#2 enters the car. I try to look contrite. I am failing.]

Cop#2: I am writing you a ticket for public intoxication.
ME: Yes Sir. [“Now is not the time.”]
Cop#2: [writing, writing, writing] So what did you learn from this?
ME: [That cops are dicks. That cops do not know the law. That I will be a millionaire once I sue this fucking city] Ummmm . . .
Cop#2: Don’t butt in when the cops are dealing with a situation.
ME: Yes Sir.
Cop#2: Here you go, any questions?
ME: Is your badge number on that?
Cop#2: Yes it is. [overtly smug]
ME: Ok, great.

[Cop#2 lets me out of the car. I head back inside the house where the party was held, and find it mostly deserted. Apparently, a lot went down when I was locked up in the cop car. Not really though, most people just left. If only I was that smart.]

Coda:

So, that is pretty much the end of the interesting part of the story. The rest of it confirms my retardedness.

So you are probably wondering what happened? Did I fight the law and win? Did I file my § 1983 action and receive damages for my unlawful detainment? I am sorry to say, I did none of the above. Public Intox is a criminal misdemeanor, on par with driving without a seatbelt, and a lesser offense than driving under 20 mph over the speed limit (at least according to the fines).

So I did nothing, the ticket did not require a court appearance, though I could have appeared in court on Jan. 2. I spent my winter break in the Chicago area, and had plans after the 2nd, so it would have cost me more to go back to [law school town] to appear in court, when I would just have to head back to Chicago. I did not even take the chance to plead nolo contendre. So I paid the $70 fine by mail. And possibly fucked myself in the process.

The other kids that got tickets that night all appeared in court and plead not guilty. The prosecuting attorney dismissed (or refused to prosecute really) all the cases, saying something to the effect of “are these those damn porch cases again?”

The funny thing (at least to me), is that in my cost benefit analysis of showing in court, I researched the law in this state, and found two cases from state appellate courts explicitly stating that a porch could be a public area, as well as a United States Supreme Court decision implicitly stating that a porch could be public (I will not get into the specifics, but the state court decisions seemed pretty definitive in regards to my situation, and they were appellate decisions, not State Supreme Court, and I do not know what district I am in, so if the court had to follow those decisions is something I will never know). However, it appears that the DAs in this town do not consider a porch to be a public place. That is good to know. Or would have been good to know anyway.

So to reframe Cop#2’s question, what did I learn from this? Eh, probably nothing.

A Productive Two Weeks

2006-12-21T20:18:00.002-06:00

Well, finals are done now. Drinking has begun. Debauchery later.

But I feel that I should share my most glorious accomplishment of the last two weeks with everyone.

Sure, I spent a lot of time studying. Yeah, I took some tests, but who cares about all that, right? None of that will help me achieve immortality.

However, I am on the verge of greatness. Gary Kasparov is quacking in his boots right now. Deep Blue has just exploded. Stephan Hawking is questioning if he should revise his brief history of the universe to include me.

Currently, as we speak, I am in the midst of a 30 game win streak at Free Cell. Yes, I know, it is unbelievable. No mortal man could accomplish this. Sure, every free cell game save one is winnable, but no one wins 30 in a row. This is unprecedented.

There is nothing else to say. I am now Great. (well, at least greater than I already was.)

Ker-Pow

2006-12-05T01:23:00.002-06:00

I just did a Google search on "my law review comment sucks" and "my law review article sucks." Amazingly, there were no hits. Thankfully, that should change now. Apparently most law school student egg-heads are not as self-deprecating as me.

"Law review sucks" only brings back 22 hits. I find this interesting. Or maybe it is interesting because of have been working on this fucking article all weekend, and feel like I have done jack shit, other than vomit some poorly cited half truths into a Word document.

And I understand that Rome was not built in a day, and weekend worth of hard work will not a decent law review paper be written (the whole fucking thing is written like that).

Thankfully, it is only the third draft that is due tomorrow. There is still one more to go. Because Christmas Break was made for making up for my semester's worth of slacking.

I am a damn slacker. I am only at 6,000 words (nearly 200 footnotes though, I think I overkilled that a bit). But the reality is, that this sucks. I am almost embarrassed to hand it in to my editor (as soon as I bust out 50 word non-conclusory conclusion).

It comes and goes in waves. One minute I think that this thing could be great, that I want to be published, only to have a minute later the realization that this may be the most horriblest thing ever written (other than that last sentence).

So here goes, the last gasp of a desperate man. Words shall be typed, sentences formed, and out of the ashes a Phoenix of a conclusion shall arise, which will trump the utter shititude of the 24 pages that came before it. And once again, I shall fool the world.

(this is what happens when I do not get enough sleep)

Yeah, So

2006-11-16T23:13:00.002-06:00

I was walking around campus today and saw a sign, an interesting sign. It said, "Endowed Chair Event." I thought to myself, "That chair must get more ass than a regular chair."

I then proceeded to succumb myself to a fit of hysterics, and eventually an ambulance came and took me to a better place. At least now the walls won't hurt me.

Sometimes My Arm Acts Independently of My Brain

2006-11-09T18:50:00.002-06:00

I voluntarily participated in class today. I know, I know, what the hell was I thinking? Give me a moment to explain.

First, it is a relatively small class, maybe 18 students. With a class that size, everyone has to talk sometime right? The Prof. does randomly call on students, but lately she has been moving to a more democratic method, such that, you can participate if you want. It is not as though class participation is reflected in the grading, but with a small class, sometimes it is best to answer the questions you know, to preempt being called on for the ones you don’t.

Second, the Prof. asked the question twice. There is nothing I hate more than wasting time. Having to ask a question twice equals wasting my time. I also hate when someone says, “To put it another way . . .” when the first way was perfectly clear. To the Prof.’s credit, I think she was just killing time waiting for someone to figure out the answer, but it really was, at least to me, a relatively simple question.

As a corollary to the second, thirdly, no one else was volunteering. I think I have mentioned this before (am I repeating myself? Who cares, only two people read this, and I hope they don’t mind), but I never raise my hand if someone else wants to chime in. Why should I fill the room with my genius if someone else wants to swamp it with idiocy? Yeah, I know, there is something about talking in class that does something. I am not sure what they are all talking about, I never seem to be able to pay attention to psycho-babble. It’s not that I do not want to be wrong in front of a bunch of people, I have been wrong plenty of times, it’s just that I do not care. I cannot stress that enough. Which leads to . . .

Finally, I had trouble connecting to the internet during class. Thus, I was unable to squander my time away reading stuff about nothing (usually Deadspin, ESPN, or Dan Shanoff, all sports related crap). Had I been connected to the internet, I would not have been paying attention anyway. The Prof. was not talking directly about a case, so I should have zoned out, but with Firefox showing me that annoying “Problem loading page,” “Server not found” page. Fuck that page. I see it way, way too much. Of course, I am now numb to that page, so seeing it in class did not send me into a blind rage. Thusly, I was forced to pay attention in class. In my defense, it was not like I learned anything, after all, I was the only person in the class who knew the answer to her question.

Sleep and Syndication

2006-11-02T15:44:00.002-06:00

These days, my life seems to revolve around two things. First, as we all know by now, is sleep, my ever elusive mistress. Thankfully, I recently discovered the virtuous Tylenol PM, which fills in nicely when alcohol and I are seeing other people. But, I still like to sleep, and I never get enough. I wonder if that makes me a sleep addict? After all, much of my time is spent plotting when I can start trying to fall asleep, as well as deciphering the latest possible time I can get out of bed. I do not think I have showered before leaving home in at least a month. Hopefully I do not stink that bad. I mean, I usually remember to put on deodorant, but sometimes in a rush to leave, I forget. Sue me.

The second thing that has been dictating my life is, sadly, nothing to do with social activities or school work. When I discovered that Scrubs is on five times a day, my life changed forever. Scrubs is one of those great shows that you watch when you realize it is on, but never know exactly when it is on. Whatever network it was on horribly mismanaged the show. And it's great! It is amazing to me that it lasted long enough to make it to syndication, considering I rarely watched it in primetime, and we all know that the world revolves around me. At least my world anyway.

So now I drop everything from 7 to 8, and again from 11:30 to 1. Five episodes of Scrubs a day. The best part is that I have not seen most of the episodes. It would be nice to be able to watch it from the beginning, so there is that continuity, but I can get over it. I can piece it back together in my head all on my own.

Now they have this interesting thing, where the shows do not wait five years before starting syndication. This explains why I wasted my entire last Sunday watching a House marathon on USA (another good show I never watch). So in addition to five Scrubs a day, I have to worry about random marathons over the weekend (at least I do not do homework on the weekends). Then there is the old stand-bys, The Daily Show and Colbert Report, Smallville, PTI, and I think that is it. But you never know when Yes Dear or King of Queens or Law & Order or Law & Order: SVU or Law & Order: Criminal Intent or Law & Order: Rules of Criminal Procedure might suck me in.

I think, maybe, getting cable was a bad idea.

The Hardest Part

2006-10-14T23:38:00.001-05:00

Woke up, got out of bed
Dragged a comb across my head
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup
And looking up, I noticed I was late

--A Day In The Life--The Beatles

It seems to me, that the only reason I ever get out of bed is to go to class. Take today for instance. It was a Saturday, and I woke up around 9:30. I really did not want to get up this early so I forced myself to fall back asleep. I really hate getting up early, especially when there is no particular reason for it.

During the week, there is always a reason to get up early. I call this reason "Class." It is the actual physical state of being in class, not some sort of high-brow I dress better than you type of class. In the latter sense, I have no class. But in the former state, I am all about class.

The Prof. that lectures is the same one that writes the final exam. Therefore, he or she will only lecture about things that it deems relevant. Hence, going to class gives you an insight into what the teacher thinks. Or, more importantly, the arguments that the Prof. respects and those the Prof. does not respect. There are valuable things to learn by going to class. But that is not the reason that I go.

I try not to miss any classes. I want my butt in the seat. One class I missed earlier this semester, I got some feedback on. The folks I talked to said the Prof. talked for most of the fifty minutes on some obscure hypothetical, that in their opinion, was highly irrelevant. The basic concept of the hypo, which they divulged to me, seemed relatively simple, but it still would have been nice to make that class. Who knows what the exam will entail? That lecture may be the smoking gun.

But even though I take lots of notes during class, that is not why I go. I go to class because it is a break. The only time you do not have to worry about anything, is when you are in class.

For me, the majority of the learning is done outside of class. I actually do the homework, and attempt to understand it in Law School. In Undergrad, I never read shit. I suppose that Socrates would be proud of me. I learn the material, and use class to fill in the gaps. That is why when I get called on in class, I can answer the questions, unlike some people, who it is evident only skimmed the material. I rely on myself much more than I rely on the Prof's (or even worse, a students) presentation of the material.

So then why do I hate skipping classes? Because class is a break. What does that mean you must be wondering. It means that I use class to answer e-mails, read my favorite webpages, and dick around. Because there is nothing that I have to get done. I am in class, I have fulfilled my obligation for this fifty minutes of my life, and it is a good chance to do the things I never seem to have time for.

I spend my Saturdays in bed, mostly catching up on sleep (seeing as how I average five hours a night during the week), and I love it. Because it is the weekend. And there is no obligation.

The sad thing is, I pretty much do on Saturday what I do in class. Just sit there and dick around, until someone says something particularly enlightening, and I jot it down in my notes.

Ring Ring

2006-09-29T20:19:00.002-05:00

I had a phone interview today.

Yeah, I know, I have been talking about job interviews a lot lately, but that is the major deal with my life right now. Just wait a few weeks, when all I talk about is my Comment, and you will wish for the days of the job interview posts.

I love the phone interview, for several reasons (cue the list:)

It is much easier to lie--I am not saying that I flat out lie in interviews, but there are situations where you have to stretch the truth. Well, I never stretch the truth, I was tell it as is, which is why I never get call backs. But, in reality, it is easier to pump yourself up to the interviewee when you can read bullet points off a piece of paper and do not have to worry about how your non-verbal communication is being judged. Yes, a good lawyer can look another into the eye and lie (this is not hypocritical, have you heard of negotiation?), and help their client in the process. A lot of negotiation is who has the biggest cajones and who blinks first. There is a reason you start the negotiation at $1.5 mil. when all you really want is $750K. Some call it negotiation, but I call it lying. And when you do not have to look at someone in the eye while doing it, it is much easier.
You can wear what you want--Do not get me wrong. I love a good suit. I look forward to the day when I can afford $1,000 for a perfectly tailored suit. But I am no where near that right now. My suit from the Men's Wearhouse is working out well, but I do not siphon off confidence from my suit. I much prefer wearing khakis and a hooded sweatshirt. Which is what I wore during the phone interview. I was completely comfortable, sitting in my comfy chair, wearing my comfy clothes. I wish I could go to all my interviews in a hoodie.
You can drink--Not alcohol of course (though you could, if that is your bag). But I am fairly certain that it is bad manners to request a drink during a regular interview, unless the pitcher is right there on the table. When I talk, my mouth dries out faster than the Sahara in June. It is nice to be able to drink without worrying about inconveniencing the interviewer.
Unhostile Environment--With the phone interview, you dictate where you sit. You are not in someone's office, or in the CSO's little room off to the side. I could have laid down in bed, sat in the kitchen, or sat on the couch in front of the TV. You can find the most comfortable place for yourself. That in and of itself, is worth ten confidence points.

So I like the phone interviews. And that is about all I have to say.

Sans Cable

2006-09-29T00:50:00.002-05:00

You may be surprised to learn, that as someone who watched more TV over the summer than all but 1% of the population, I have gone the last month without cable. Hell, I did not even have network TV except for a grainy NBC (Hooray for Conan) until two days ago when I bought an antenna. My TV had actually been in storage for the first month that I was back in town, until I realized that I would have to pay another months rent ($40), and got it the hell out of there. All it cost me was a beer. Its good to know people.

Over the summer, my schedule was pretty rigid. I would wake up around 2, and get online, with something on the TV. It did not really matter, I was not paying attention. Usually it was Strongman competitions on ESPN. But, it did not matter, the first two hours of my day were spent surfing, reading a bunch of ultimately worthless shit (much like you will view this post in about two minutes). I made no attempt to keep up on the news, unless it was sports related. So after two hours reading every article on ESPN, it was time for the talking heads, Around the Horn (I know, the show sucks, but I am a glutton for punishment, besides it always made), followed by PTI (so much better). Then came syndication bi-hour (Simpsons, Seinfeld, That 70s Show). Followed by whatever sporting event was on that particular night.

Late night was The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, Conan, and infomercials. Various other shows would be interspersed throughout the day and evening, but the point is, summer was spent on my ass watching TV.

And now, I do not have it. And honestly, I love it. I am no longer a slave to being home at 5:30 to watch PTI, or making sure that I watch and episode of The Simpsons for the 47th time. I really do not miss TV. I used to feel like Homer, who once opined about TV, "Teacher, mother, secret lover."

I know think of all those hours wasted watching TV and, well, I do not regret it. I am overloaded with work right now, that it is really just the distraction of TV that I do not miss. Because waking up with a hangover on Sat/Sun and not being able to lie in bed or on the couch and watch football is a little emasculating. Thankfully, the antenna has rectified that situation.

However, it is not that I have not compensated. You may or may not be aware that you can buy television shows on iTunes. And not just single episodes, you can buy entire seasons. I love technology. So one boring night, I was going through the iTunes catalog, and found what I wanted, purchased it, and let the download begin.

FYI, it takes forever to download an hour long episode (especially when you are using pilfered internet). Thankfully, it was about ten minutes less than a full length episode, so once you get the first one, you are good to go.

But I did not stop at just the first season, I bought the second season too. Unfortunately, the third season is not yet up on iTunes, but I found a loophole in the system one day during class.

With wireless internet, you can pretty much screw around on the internet the entire time that the Prof. is up on his soapbox. Games, IM, or blogs, he or she will never know, as long as you keep the sound muted. Its not like they will expend the effort to walk around class and try to interact with the students beyond asking them probing and insightful questions about the case at issue (well unless they do not have tenure yet). So during one particular unilluminating soliloquy by a Prof. (about something completely unrelated to anything, I assure you, I usually pay attention in class, but this went on for about 20 minutes), I decide to check out a site I have heard a lot about, but never, ever utilized.

Oh, behold the glory that is eBay. How have I never been there before? It has all this stuff, and you bid on it. Whatever, the thing that I have always hated about eBay was that you had to schedule yourself to be on the computer when the auction was ending so that you could bid up the price with 20 seconds left. What the hell? Why not just put high figure to start with? Of course, when I tried that in the past it never worked, but then, I never really cared. I do not need someone else's worthless crap. Until that fateful day in class.

There it was, Season 3. And the auction was ending in 9 minutes. There was still 15 minutes left in class. Oh yeah, I bid, and I won, and I did not even have to do that crappy raising your bid in the last minute to win. I was a little disappointed by that. So now I have Season 1 and 2 downloaded on my computer (does anyone have a DVR?) and Season 3 of Buffy The Vampire Slayer on DVD. Yep, Buffy. I might be a little bit of a nerd, but if I was a huge nerd, wouldn't I have all seven seasons by now? Yeah that is what I thought. Give me three months, and I will have them. Along with the five of Angel.

So the question is, do I really miss cable and am over compensating by buying Buffy (I have already watched season 1 twice, and am halfway through my second viewing of season 2), or do I really love Buffy and not need cable?

Only time will tell I guess. But what I do know is that sometimes class is boooooring.

Well, the Smallville season premiere starts momentarily, time for me to run, errr, sit.

Looks Good . . . On Paper

2006-09-21T05:01:00.002-05:00

If you really like it you can have the rights,
It could make a million for you overnight,
If you must return it you can send it here,
But I need a break,
And I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.

--Paperback Writer—The Beatles

I am the paper candidate.

I look good on paper. Well, at least when I am not writing a story about my drunken idiocy anyway. But I digress. I have fairly good credentials. I have the proper class rank, one of the two MVEC (Most Valuable Extra-Circulars), too many CALI’s, and even a scholarship (just got that one). I have two years of experience in the business world, where I supervised 20 other people. I have solved problems and fired people (sometimes solving a problem by firing someone). I even did some consulting for a small business.

All this looks nice, when it is written in my usual eloquent style, dressed up with pretty bullet points and dashes, as well as some right justification. Yeah, my resume is pretty sweet. Combine that with some bond paper, and you begin to crack at a smile at my awesomeness. Throw in a dash of cover letter and a transcript, and you may begin to drool. Add in my writing sample, and you will go into full blown Cujo mode.

It seems like every year, for at least the past five, at the beginning of the baseball season, all the beat writers are in agreement. The Yankees are the best team. On Paper. All the talent in the world. No one could ever beat them in RBI Baseball. And because of this, for the past five years, 90% of the writers pick the Yanks to be in The Series. But there is a reason they play the games. Guys get hurt. Randy Johnson suddenly looks old for the first half of the year. Giambi is on the Cream and the Clear. Sheffield too probably. A-Rod does not get along with his teammates, probably because the answers the hotel door at 1 a.m. wearing a pressed shirt, suit and tie. Mike Mussina is getting too old. They have no closer. Jeter is . . . well, Jeter (oh wait, dating Mariah Carey, I just thought of that).

You get the idea. You see your team on paper, and get excited. Then they do not come through. The Yanks have not done shit the last five years (excluding this year, where they are probably winning the division as I type). Take my team for instance, the Cubbies. I thought they would take the world by storm this year. Wood, Prior, Lee, Barrett, Walker, Murton, Pierre, Dumpster (I mean Dempster), and a couple other guys. Lee had his breakout year last year, Barrett was poised to have his this year (which he did, until he suffered internal bleeding in his scrotum. Seriously). On paper, the Cubs looked good. But right now, they are the worst team in the National League. I feel like the Cubs.

As much as I love to write (do not be fooled by the lack of updates the past week), I hate to talk. And I really hate talking about myself. Oh, I can write about myself. That is easy, maybe because I can revise things. But I have never been one to tell stories, or be the life of the party, or engage a person I have never met before. Socializing is not my bag.

Add in having to talk to people I have never met about my greatness, and make it seem like I am actually that great (which I am not), and then seem like I genuinely am interested to learn more about their firm, when all I want to say is, “Give me a fucking job, and you will not be disappointed.” I am sick of the dance. I was actually sick of it before I had my first one.

But because I am the paper candidate, I have plenty of opportunities to make a fool of myself, as I mumble along, trying to make sense of things that really do not make sense. For instance, when an interviewer asks me, “What did you do last summer?” what am I supposed to say? “I worked a shitty job for two months, before I got hammered one night and decided to quit. My goal was to read 40 books over the summer, but I only read about 20. I did drink a great deal, which lead to some pretty good posts on my blog.” Actually, I think I will say that in my interview tomorrow if they ask. But that is not what they want to hear. They want a legitimate excuse for why I had no legal job, when I clearly had the qualifications to get one. Of course, by the end of the interview, they are not wondering that anymore.

This is not a total rag on myself. I will admit that I am doing head and shoulders above what I did last year, but it still is no where near where it should be. I suppose that it is all just practice.

See, the grand confession is that I have never, ever (well, at least since I worked at a Deli in college) gotten a job that I had a face to face interview for. My job in the business world was a phone interview. The other ones, I kind of lucked into, or they were so desperate, I walked in and was hired.

Actually, tomorrow I am going to go in to my interview with my laptop and pretend that I am deaf. That way, I can just type out all of my answers. I like this plan. (Plus it adds the threat of a lawsuit.)

Note: It is not that I am fooling myself. I know that my interviewers do not look at my resume until about one minute before they meet me

The First Week In Review [Part 1]

2006-09-08T13:12:00.002-05:00

For most law students, there is nothing less memorable than the first week in law school. I have no idea what happened my first week as a 1L. I am pretty sure that I went to all my classes, and I know for a fact I was never called on to explain a case in that first week. Regardless, the nervousness, anxiety, and general "what the fuck is going on" pervades that first ever week in law school. By Wednesday, the 1L is wondering to himself, "Who the hell is Socratic?"

I have lived through my first week as a 1L, so I can make jokes, but this is the first time I have gone through the first week of classes as a 2L. Here is what transpired:

When you take a final exam, you are expected to study for hours on end, but the most important factor in doing well on a test is getting a good night's sleep. If you have read this blog from the beginning, you know that me and a good night's sleep is like trying to stick two positively charged magnets together. It is just not going to happen. This is the perfect lead in to the two things I learned this, my first week of being a 2L.

1) Get some sleep before a job interview.

Not only was Tuesday the first day of class, but it was also my first interview for a summer associate position. Yeah, summer is 9 months away, but I guess they want to get in early while the pickings are still good. Besides, it was just an OCI, a more extensive interview is to be expected in October, assuming you do not suck in the initial interview like I do.

On Monday, I knew I Tuesday would be a big day. I had a class at 8:30 a.m., an interview, and a couple more classes. I actually had all my first day assignments done early, so I went to bed early. Really early, at least for me. I was in the sack by 10 p.m. Unfortunately being in bed does not translate to sleeping. I laid in that bed (my new mattress) for eight hours trying to fall asleep. But it was just not happening. By the time 6 a.m. rolled around (just as I had been rolling around in bed trying to fall asleep), I said fuck it, got up, took a shower, and began brewing the coffee. Caffeine was the only possible solution to the day I was about to endure.

So I went to my classes, and was successful in not being called upon (I love being non-descript). I think that it is impressive that I was able to remain non-descript even though I was one of three or four other kids in my classes (of about 70 in the largest) wearing a suit.

My interview that day was with a very blue-blooded firm that is quite prestigious within the state my law school is located. The interview was at 10 a.m. At this point I had been up for 22 straight hours. Yeah, I was a little tired. Needless to say, the interview did not go well. Her first question was, "So, what did you do this summer?"

I figured "went bowling and got drunk everynight of the week" was not the best answer, though it was the true answer, so I replied, "I enjoyed the summer. I read some books. Did a lot of nothing, and enjoyed it." OK, that is not exactly what I said, but I am pretty sure that is what she heard. She asked me two more questions and clammed up when I tried to ask her questions about the firm. It was not that her first question caught me off guard, it was just that I was so tired I did not care, and that it is really a stupid question. If I did something over the summer it would be on the resume [expletive].

But that was not the worst part of the first day. I am fairly certain that hell would have to freeze over before that firm would offer me a position (that is a dig against the firm and myself. I would never fit in there. I know this, but like a morphine addict chases the dragon, I chase the green).

The worst part was that I had a class at 2:30. Thankfully it was only the first day, where nothing important happens. I mean who cares about Copyright history? I have been there, done that (bear with me, at least until tomorrow). So when I finally got back to my house at 4 p.m. I had been up for 28 straight hours. Thank god for cherry coke. That is the only thing that kept me going throughout the schoolday.

But the return home meant that there was homework to be completed for Wednesday. Had I been smart I would have punched out all my first class assignments over the weekend. But I am not smart, so I did the best I could.

I had three classes on Wednesday, and another interview. Take a guess as to what took priority.

2) The Future Is Now

[First week conclusion on Sat. And I am not going to do this every week. The first week gets special treatment.]

Holy Shit, A Post About Law School

2006-09-07T21:53:00.002-05:00

I was walking down the hall in the Law School building today, and I saw a flyer, that nearly made me bust a gut. The flyer looked something like this:

I could understand why this sign would grace the halls of say, Harvard, Yale, Northwestern, or all those other schools where the bottom 25% has a better chance of breaking $100,000 starting than I do, but this sign should not be at my school.

No one at my school "Aced" the LSAT. If they aced the LSAT and had a 2.0 GPA in undergrad, they still would have gone to a better school. Not that my school is that shitty, but that is the reality. A lot depends on the fucking LSAT.

My LSAT score is not something that I particularly like reflecting on, so when I finished laughing at the stupid flyer, I realized the ignominiousness of the flyer. The bastards are making fun me.

Had I taken the Kaplan course before I took the LSAT, who knows where I would be?

[hint: Law School Dropout]

The Night I Quit My Crappy Job

2006-08-24T05:01:00.002-05:00

I have been to two tattoo parties in my life, and both were great fucking times. EagleMan threw both parties. The first was several years ago. It was a sobering event, even with the copious amount of alcohol that was drunken by all. EagleMan's father had just passed, and as a tribute to him, we threw a big party in his now empty apartment. Well, empty except for all the alcohol. It was a night for remembrance, a night for anecdotes, and a night to get so blitzed that we tried to forget why we were there. But it was still in the back of all of our minds, and we knew that the pain we felt upon entering the empty apartment would return again, along with a massive headache, in the morning. But for a few hours we could celebrate life, and take away the pain of loss, and that is what we did. Holy shit that is what we did.

The second tattoo party was only a couple weeks ago. EagleMan has thrown quite a few in his day, but I was usually out of the state when they were thrown (I made a special trip into town for the first one for obvious reasons). I was in town for this one, so of course I attended. You know my feelings on my job, and as luck would have it, I had to work the next day, which was a Sunday. This hardly pleased me, as it never does, but I vowed to myself to stop drinking and head home at 10. When I arrived, I was shoved towards the keg of Bud Light. The night went uphill from there.

So what is a tattoo party? It is a simple concept. A person throws a party. Among others, he invites a tattoo artist, not to party, but to do his thing. The artist can easily make close to a grand tattooing people in rapid succession, as the hum of house music penetrates the walls around him. Pretty damn good for a nights work. Everyone who comes to the party knows that there will be a tattoo artist there, so most of the people who attend want a tattoo. And they know that they will get a good deal. There is far more business at one tattoo party than there is during a regular day at a tattoo shop. At least per hour anyway. EagleMan always gets a tattoo during these parties, and he usually gets a huge discount, merely because he brought in a shit-load of business for the artist. [Note: this article is interesting but the tattoo artist here is a professional, and everything was extremely safe, hence the ten minutes (at least) between tattoos to change out his equipment.]

So I showed up at 8:30 with the best of intentions. Hangout for a while, drink a couple of beers, watch a couple of tattoos being done, and take off so I could get my beauty rest for my killer workday. Then, I was told about the keg. I quickly found a cup, and headed out to garage was the keg was resting. It was a glorious site. I cannot remember the last time I went to a kegger. I pumped, flipped the switch, and watched the golden liquid flow out the faucet. My dear friend Bud Light and I were about to take our relationship to the next level.

After filling my cup, I returned inside, and surveyed the scene. "I should go into Criminal Defense," I thought to myself. Of the 25 people there, there was probably an accumulated total of jail time served near my age. The tattoo artist had just gotten out of the joint, and it was not his first stint there. EagleMan's younger brother has probably spent close to three years in stir. I did not really know much about the other people there, but they did not seem to me to be straight-edge. The tattoo artist was even wearing a shirt with a picture of a guy holding a briefcase that said, "Jack Schitt, Esq." Yeah, these are my kind of people.

Nothing too terribly exciting actually happened at the party. At one point I began offering discounts on legal fees for anyone who mentioned EagleMan's name. So if the that is the highlight, it was a pretty boring party. Except for all the tattoos of course. I stationed myself close to the tattoo artist to watch him work. I love watching people draw, mainly because it is a skill that I do not have. People who can draw a straight line without sweat forming on their forehead piss me off, yet never fails to leave me amazed. The tattoo artist is pretty damn good too. He has done most of EagleMan's tats, the ones the tattoo artist has not done (because he was in jail), are clearly of inferior quality. This guy makes it look so easy, yeah, I am a little jealous.

I was not there to get a tattoo myself (I have none and do not plan on ever getting one). I went for the free beer. I certainly got my money's worth. Ten o'clock soon turned into eleven, which suddenly became midnight. Around midnight I began bitching to anyone who was next to me about how I hated my job, and I should just fucking quit it. Had I been sober, I would have realized that rationalizing things when you are hammered is not the best idea. But I was drunk, and by one I began to think that quitting was the best idea since college football.

Around 1:30 I was having trouble staying upright, and began wondering to myself why the hell I was still there. I had to get up at six for work, and the way things were going, each sip made that less and less likely. Then it hit me. I knew when I could leave. EagleMan still had not gotten his tattoo yet. "I have to stay to watch that," I drunkenly slurred to whoever was standing next to me at the time. That person quickly moved away. I went to get another beer.

By the time the tattoo artist finally began EagleMan's tattoo (on his right pec, what a stud), I was shitfaced. It is a damn good thing I only live two blocks from his house. The tattoo would take an hour to complete, and I was unable to stay for the whole thing. At 2:30, I finally had a rational thought that said, "You have to go home and go to bed RIGHT NOW!" I stumbled and swayed back to my house, spent two minutes trying to find the right key to unlock the door, wandered around for a while looking for my bed, found it, and crashed.

Lucky for me, I had the presence of mind to set my alarm clocks before I went out. And at 5:45 I was shocked awake. I flopped like a dolphin off my bed, five feet into the air if it was an inch. I reached blindly out into the dark room trying to figure out how to turn off my alarm clock, and finally succeeded. You should know that this is no ordinary alarm clock. This one does not make any noise at all.

All my life I have searched for a cartoon alarm clock, one that has a mallet come out and bash you on the head when it is time to wake up. My search has, thus far, been futile, so I settled on the next best thing. A vibrating alarm clock. It is a normal clock, but it comes with a pad that you put into your pillow case. When the alarm is tripped, your head begins shaking like it is the only part of your body in a 7.0 earthquake. And when your head starts shaking and you are still drunk, it is enough to wake you up so violently, that your heart begins beating 200 times a minute.

I got out of bed, and stood up, or tried too, I was a little wobbly. I really, really did not want to go to work, but I really only had to stick it out for two more weeks, then I would have a nice cushion of cash, such that I would not have to worry about money while waiting for my refund check from the Law School. I braced myself, and took a step. The room began to spin. I took a deep breath, and ventured to put my left foot in front of the right. I nearly vomited. I sat down on my bed, and thought about what to do.

This would not be the first time that I had driven to this job drunk. But it would be the first time I would be drunk at work and it was over 90 degrees outside. I decided that I should suck it up, and go to work. It wouldn't really be that bad. In 13 hours all this would be over. Sometime around nine, I would start to feel hungover, and the dehydration would hit, and probably last until one, and then there would only be six hours of work left.

At that last thought I said that is it. Fuck it. I could have called in sick, or called to tell them that I would not be coming in, but Fuck it. All the drinking on work nights was just me acting out my misery. Why should I continue? My drunken mind thought that to be brilliant reasoning. So I went back to bed. And slept. Until noon. It was transcendent.

A Wasp's Tale

2006-08-11T20:57:00.002-05:00

Because it was so nice out, sunny but with a nice breeze, I decided to read outside. I packed up all my gear, book, smokes, lighter, iPod, coffee, and a glass of water, and headed out onto the back porch. Upon opening the screen door, I immediately saw my nemesis.

A wasp was having a grand old time hanging out on my chair. He was walking up and down the back like he owned the fucking thing. This wasp needed to be taught a lesson by another WASP. I calmly, and with as little movement as possible put down my reading gear, while the wasp continued his exercise, walking up and down the curvature at the top of the lawn chair.

Once I had dropped the dead weight, I beat a hasty retreat back into the house, seeking out the nearest magazine. I quickly found a two-month old double issue of SI. Perfect. I rolled it, and snuck back out. The wasp was where I left him, continuing his journey to nowhere. Summoning all of my Native American heritage (which is probably none), I quietly snuck up behind him, and delivered a mighty THWACK.

When I removed the magazine from the point of impact, the wasp was no where to be seen. He was not attached to the magazine nor the chair. Confused, I crouched down to see where his flattened body had landed. I did not see it anywhere. I looked high and low, but the wasp was gone. I quickly retreated into the house.

Once safely behind the impenetrable fortress that is my screen door, I evaluated my options. All my stuff was outside, including the book I wanted to read, as well as a possible super-wasp, who could not be killed by an ordinary strategically aimed magazine. But, one day I will be a lawyer. I am sure that I will walk into many situations where I will eventually be stung (though in the pocketbook, or at least the client's pocketbook), and sucked it up and headed back out to continue my search. I figured my search would be fruitless, and I could go ahead with reading my book, keeping one eye on the words and one eye to the sky.

I saw him almost at once. He was four feet from where I attempted to murder him, hidden underneath a table. Half of his body had been smashed, and he could no longer fly. He was pulling himself along the ground like the Terminator at the end of The Terminator. Only two of his legs worked, and he looked pissed. I pulled my magazine out its sheath, and proceeded to pummel the half dead wasp. He had no chance. I was left with a highly dead wasp on my back-porch, his stinger halfway out. Not wanting to touch him, I used my magazine like a putter to get him to the nearest patch of land that would not have any foot traffic.

Once I succeeded, I was able to settle into my chair, and start enjoying my book.

About ten minutes later, two additional wasps buzzed my head. I freaked out and immediately grabbed for my sword, err, magazine, but by the time I was in my Gladiator position, they were twenty feet away. They kept buzzing around, a safe distance from me, and I went back to reading, keeping one eye on them. Soon, there was no activity, but I kept alert.

Then, one of the wasps returned, and landed on the porch about two feet from me. And he brought me a present. Secured in his arms was the wasp that I had killed, and putted into the dirt. For a second it looked like the second wasp was trying to slap his dead brethren back to life, but he quickly gave up, flew away and left the dead wasp lying on the ground, two feet from my bare feet.

His threat could not have been more subtle had he left a horse's head in my bed. I fled back to the safety of my bunker.

Warped Tour

2006-08-05T04:59:00.002-05:00

You say this ain't the end to me
Fall down, pull the rug under me
Feels like I'm falling but I tell you
I'm not going down

      Zebrahead--Over The Edge

Last weekend I went to the Warped Tour. If you do not know what the Warped Tour is, then shame on you. Basically, it is a bunch of bands touring in a festival-like atmosphere. I dropped $35 of EagleMan's hard earned money to buy myself a ticket to see one band. One of my favorite bands has decided to abstain from touring in any city remotely close to where I am, and therefore, I had to see them at Warped Tour.

Warped Tour is filled with 30 minute sets of many semi-popular bands. The good bands take up 3 stages, while all the crappy bands fill up the remaining 5. I was interested in seeing only one band, but to fill time between my arrival, the best band of all-time, and my departure, I checked out some other acts. Thursday was great, as was Less Than Jake. Armor For Sleep was a bit of a disappointment, as they play a lot of mellow songs and it did not translate well into a parking lot stage. NOFX sucked. I hate them. Unfortunately, I missed The Academy Is . . ., but at least I saw Motion City Soundtrack (oh, wait, I left halfway through their set to get a beer). Senses Fail looked pretty damn good from a mile away though.

But my glorious savior, beer, was hard to come by that day. Not only was it 100 degrees outside, but a large beer cost me $7.50. Motherfucking highway robbery. Who the hell would pay that for a beer? I mean other than an unabashed alcoholic like myself? Yeah, so I drank a few. Of course, they did not start selling until 2 p.m., and I was jonesing for a beer around 12:30 (which incidentally was a little after we arrived).

I was smart though, I brought in an unopened bottle of water (if opened it would be confiscated upon entry). I was able to refill this bottle several times ($3.75 for a bottle of water? Fuck You!), and alternate beer and water so I would not pass out from dehydration.

But the entire day was going through the motions until Zebrahead took the stage at 5:15. I saved my energy for this performance. For all the others I hung back, tapping my toes like a 90 year old at a jazz bar. But when Zebrahead took the stage, I went off. They are one of my favorite bands, and it has been two years since I last saw them. Last time, I was 23, still a respectable age for going fucking nuts at a concert, but now I am 25, and a future lawyer, one day to be a pillar of the community.

Once they hit the first chord of Playmate of the Year, I forgot all that shit. I went nuts. Jumping around, helping kids get up to crowd surf, shit I was even a mosh pit for a couple seconds.

It was my release. Better than ejaculation. Everybody experiences music a different way, and when you are two yards from the band, surrounded by people you have never met, but know you share a sacred common interest, you can act how you want. You let the music dictate what you do, and the music compels each person differently. If you want to jump, then by all means, jump. If you want to throw horns in the air and bob your head, go forth. If spinning around in circles is your bag, then do it, no one cares. We are all here for the same reason.

But at the same time, we are all lemmings. If you watched the World Cup like I did, because you have nothing better to do (like work), you would see each country had cheers, long exhaustive cheers. In the US, our cheers are things like "Go, Go, Go!" or "*clap* *clap* *CLAP*" We suck at cheers. We need a Jumbotron or organist to tell us what to do.

The same is true with bands. Sometimes they feel the need to tell us when and how to clap, what lyrics to recite, or what actions to take. Personally, I feel that is insulting. The band is telling us that we are too stupid to know how to react to the music they play. And for the most part, they are right. Americans are stupid. But I transcend those people, and refuse to play along. I never follow along with the Simon Says that the band espouses.

Unless Zebrahead is on the stage. They could tell me to commit mass murder, and I would have to think twice before deciding against it. So when the lead singer for Zebrahead called out for a circle pit during their second-to-last song, I gleefully complied. A circle pit is basically the audience running around in a circle. It seems pretty stupid, and it is, but when the band tells you to do it, you think it is the best idea since DC*.

So they launched into their song, and I started running. I was pretty drunk at this point, despite the oppressive heat, and soon learned that a bunch of people running in a circle was a death trap. Some people ran too slow, some too fast, and I bit it hard because I could not find the happy medium. I tripped and fell not once, not twice, but thrice (they did not play (Thrice is a band)). Yeah, I kept going even though I knew it was a death trap. I was feeling the music, or something like that. Maybe I was just shithoused. I ripped my pants and ripped my knee open. The wound proceeded to bleed through the next song, and ten minutes afterwards before I noticed it. By the time I noticed, my pants were drenched in blood.

I felt so cool. I had a battle wound. A Zebrahead battle wound.

I am going to wear the blood soaked, ripped pants on the first day of classes. Everyone is going to ask me what the hell happened, and I am going to say, "Never ever fucking sue Wal-Mart. Those guys play for keeps."

*Yes, Direct Current did not work out in the end. An Edison failure, but when it was introduced it was the main ideal. It took a couple of years for AC to take over, but at first people thought DC was the greatest thing ever. Then they were introduced to AC.

A Normal Thursday Part 2

2006-07-30T04:59:00.002-05:00

Part 1

It is a little harsh to describe her as the GOTW. EagleMan just ended a long relationship, and is getting back into the dating scene (as I described before). He is a romantic at heart, and falls pretty quickly. This was no exception. GOTW was an affable enough girl, more outgoing than the last one, but she fell pretty hard too. He had been seeing this girl for about a week, and at one point during the ball game, while EagleMan was away, she asked me what I thought she should do for his birthday. His birthday was over two months away. I hemmed and hawed as much as I could, but I was pretty uncomfortable, even though I knew he liked her. However, in a moment, I was about to be much more uncomfortable.

With GOTW talking to the older woman, I took my turn to bowl, focusing on not falling down. Throwing it down the right arrow was secondary. This scene would repeat itself 70 more times (I got no strikes that night). I was getting a little buzzed. I am not a fan of Budweiser. I managed to avoid the gutter with both rolls, and returned to the table, seeing the older woman putting on shoes.

"This is my mother," GOTW cheerily slurred. Her fucking mother? After a week? Holy hell. EagleMan did not look shocked, so he must have known that this coming. He neglected to give me a heads up. I have enough trouble interacting in social situations with my best friends, and now, out of the blue, the GOTW's mother shows up. The least I could have gotten was a heads up from EagleMan. I am very regimented, routine oriented, and I do not like things happening unexpectedly. Unless I am hammered. I was not there yet.

I quickly excused myself to go get another beer. Head still spinning, I walked up to the bar. However, I had enough sense to see if lovely honey was still around, but alas, she was gone. "Bud?" the bartender asked. "Uhmm, no, Bud Light actually." A look of confusion briefly wafted across the bartender's face, then dissipated. "I knew there was someone that ordered Bud Light's on Thursdays. Why did you let me give you a Bud last time?" Because I am a sadist. I grabbed my beer and returned to the table.

"You know, I setup a tab, just put your beers on that," GOTW's mother greeted me. Oh great, now I have her offering to pay for my bad habits. Could this get any worse?

"You know mom, he is in law school," GOTW said. "You should check out environmental law," the mother rapidly replied.

It just got worse. Now I am bowling with a hippie. "It is interesting, but I think I am going to have make more than $30,000 a year to pay off my hundred grand in student loans." "Well just think about it." Sure, no problem, I will think about it. When I get rejected by the public defenders office.

I was able to maintain a modicum of socialability with the GOTW and her mother. EagleMan is a social fiend. He can talk to anyone, anywhere, about anything. He was having no such problems. But, then GOTW and the mother got up for another round, and EagleMan turns to me and says, "I have been talking to the Ex."

And I am down for the count.

I am not Superman. Now I have to talk to the GOTW and her mother, while knowing that EagleMan has been talking to his Ex, and wants to get back together with her. I was not built to deal with such things. It of course is complicated by the fact that I liked GOTW more after a week than I ever like the Ex after a year. And I am not receptive to meeting new people.

Whatever, I decided to put all this shit out of my mind and focus on bowling and drinking. No more talking for me. I really don't have anything interesting to say anyway (but plenty of interesting things to write, I hope). This caused a chorus of "What's wrong?" from the GOTW. I replied that I was fine, as I do have a tendency to seriously introvert myself. I eventually relaxed (read: was drunk) around 11, and was able to be my slightly sociable self for the rest of the night. The beer flowed freely, in and out, and when the alley closed at midnight, my pump had been primed enough that I could have bowled for another three hours. Unfortunately, it was time to go home.

EagleMan dropped me off at my place at 12:30. At this point, I was faced with two decisions, go to bed or drink a beer and check my e-mail. My alarm clock was poised to go off in four and half hours, and I had to be out of bed in five and half. But going to bed meant that my next conscious thought would be the realization that I had to go to work for 12 hours. I turned on the computer and cracked a beer.

For the next three hours I was lost in the world of cyberspace and alcohol. I kept drinking, proclaiming each beer to be my last, and always finding a new webpage to look at, where I would be halfway through reading an article when my beer went empty, causing me to go grab another. Or, finding that I had to write some irrelevant comment on someone's blog. This could have gone on in perpetuity, but by the time 3:30 am rolled around, I realized that I was fucked.

I am not exactly sure what I did in those three hours on the worldwide web. I know I did a couple stupid things, but I do not think I spent any money, which is always good. Regardless, I absolve myself of responsibility for anything I did. I was in another world. A world fueled by hatred of work, alcohol, and the knowledge that I am who I am. I was able to break my bond with that hell, and reconnect with reality, and stagger to bed and pass out. An hour and a half before my alarm would start going off.

The sounds of staticky country music suddenly filled my ears. I was shocked awake, ripped from my drunken slumber. I looked at the clock. 30 past the hour. Fuck. It takes about 25 minutes to get to work. I hauled myself out of bed. Thankfully, in my drunken stupor I had the sense to pass out fully clothed, so all I had to do was grab all the change in my ashtray (vending machine lunch), and head out the door. Yes, I was still a little (a lot) drunk. I do not advocate drunk driving, and personally have only done it a couple times (and not in a long, long time), but at this time of the morning, with it being the only way for me to get to work, the rules are bent. In short, I was fine to drive. I had to be.

I turned on the car, and was immediately shocked by the radio. I expected Mike & Mike, the morning drive show on ESPNRadio, to come blaring through the speakers. But I heard two guys I never heard. Fuck it, I am drunk and I have to get work. I put the car in gear, and headed out. About five minutes into the drive, the two dumbfucks on the radio mentioned that they were filling in for Mike & Mike. Thank God, I thought, I have not gone crazy. But, five minutes later I looked at the clock.

5:45. The motherfucking clock said 5:45. I was a fucking hour early. Fuck. The only thing I could think was Fuck. I turned around and came home, made a lunch, and went back to bed. And woke up at 6:35. For the second time that day, I hauled my drunk ass out of bed, and left home. I started my car again, and for the second time that day, heard two guys I had never heard before. What the fuck is going on. The local affiliate had pulled the national fill-ins and put in some local fill ins. I figured this out later, but I was horribly confused at the time. On the second drive to work I checked the clock every ten seconds to reassure myself that I was leaving when I was supposed to. I safely got to work at 7 am and began my 12 hour workday.

That is my life. Want to trade?

A Normal Thursday Part 1

2006-07-28T09:58:00.002-05:00

I have already mentioned in this space that my summer job decided to make overtime mandatory. You can explore my entries to see the exact specs of my job (except for what I do of course). The company's idea of mandatory overtime is to come in for an entire extra 12 hour shift. This particular week, my normal schedule was to be off on Thursday and Friday, and work Saturday, Sunday and Monday. With mandatory OT in effect, I was forced to work on Friday. This did not please me. This did not please me at all.

Thursday became my favorite day of the week during Undergrad. Going out on a Thursday was infinitely better than going out on the weekend for several reasons. First, Freshman do not learn until Sophomore year that you can get away with going out on Thursdays. They do it occasionally, but they are still naive and do not want to make a habit of it. Thus, the 18+ bars are not packed with a bunch of idiots, sober idiots. Secondly, once you turn 21 you reach the point where you know where you stand. By this I mean you know how much effort and how many classes you have to attend to get the grade you want. At this point, the guys with the 2.0 GPA know that there is not much they can do to improve it, so they just want to have a good time. These are the guys you want to hang out with. They fucking know how to party, and when you go out with them, you never know where the hell you are going to end up.

However, major reason that Thursday became my favorite day of the week is because I could go out. At this time, I had no idea that I would end up going to Law School. This was before the downfall of Enron and Arthur Anderson, and I had every confidence in myself and society, that I could half A's and half B's and get a job as an auditor with one of the Big Five. I had no need to go to class on Friday, and even if I could haul my usually still drunk ass out of bed, all I had to do was take some notes. Easy Peasy, Japanesey.

I should mention, that I tried to change myself. After suffering through the worst grades of my life Sophomore year, I decided I had to curb the partying during the week. My feeble minded solution to this was to schedule a class that met only on Wednesdays and Fridays at 8 a.m., and lasted two hours. The rationale was, it only meets twice per week, so I have to go on Fridays, so I cannot go out on Thursdays. It was a good plan, for about a week. The lure of the best night to go out was too much for me. Halfway through the semester I had used up my six absence allowance. Yet, I continued to go out on Thursdays, I just tried to make sure that when the bars closed at 2 a.m., I went home. It worked, I got a B, probably because of the pounding headaches while trying to take notes. For two fucking hours.

This summer, Thursday still holds a special place in my heart. I bowl on Thursdays (you cannot beat dollar games and $3 Bud Lights). This particular Thursday contained a twist. Before going to the bowling alley, my friend (this guy really needs a nickname. From now on, I dub he EagleMan (and if you live in Chicago, it is ten times funnier)), his girl of the week, and I went to see the local minor league baseball team.

As you know, I love my baseball. As you know, I love my beer. Combining the two, well that is my Field of Dreams. However, the evil specter of Friday work was the thunderstorm on my field. I took it easy. I was sober enough to realize that I would be getting home three hours after my bedtime. I had to take it easy. I had maybe four beers during the game, a new record. It should have been five, which would have tied the old record, but that was not to be.

After the top of the eighth, I went to the concession stand to pick up two beers for the last inning and a half. The transaction was completed without a hitch, and when I returned to my seat, I handed one of the beers to the girl of the week, saying, "Hey, I bought you a beer." Up to this point, she had not had one beer. In fact, the two other times I saw her, she did not drink. In my head, I was making a joke. She, however, readily accepted the beer, and took a sip. Ahh, well, it's not like I needed it anyway. After she finished half the beer, it became apparent that she does not drink too often. Half a beer, and she was slurring her words. Whoops. EagleMan is my full time designated driver, he does not drink at all, for the poor guy is allergic to wheat and such things. Drinking may kill him. It actually almost killed him. He used to drink more than me, then one day, Bam!, his throat swells up and he cannot drink anymore. But, he is a good guy, and is more than happy (well, maybe not happy, willing is a better word) to put up with my drunkass. I was not sure if he was willing to put up with his new girl's drunk ass though.

The Mudville 9 lost that day, but our spirits were high as we headed off to a night of bowling. Dollar bowling starts at 9 p.m., and we arrived at 9:30. Plenty of time. After picking up my shoes, I headed to the bar. The bartender knows me, in the customer sense of the phrase. She looked at me, and said, "Bud?" I had been staring at a lovely honey across the bar, and that snapped me back to attention. "Uhh, Yeah," I replied, and went back to my ogling.

Then, the lovely honey calls out to me, "You went to [Undergrad]?" For a second, I was horribly confused. I have no idea who this is, should I know who she is? I am terrible with faces. Even worse with faces when I am thirsty. Then I realized I was wearing a hat with my Undergrad's name emblazoned upon it. "Yeah," I said. I am smoother than sandpaper. "I graduated two years ago, did you go there?" I asked. "Yeah, but I just graduated," she replied. "That's cool." No, I am smoother than silk. The bartender suddenly appeared, blocking my line of sight to the lovely honey. The lovely honey was there with a bunch of guys, so I probably had no shot with her, and I was thirsty and wanted to bowl, so I took my beer and skedaddled. It's ok. You can tell me, I know. I am a social retard.

I returned to my lane, and put on my shoes. I took a sip of my beer. Immediately, I knew something was wrong. Fuck. It was a Budweiser, not a Bud Light. That bitch of a bartender fucked up my order. No wait, I fucked up my order, thinking with the wrong head, and not paying attention to what was going on around me. Whatever, it is time to fucking bowl.

The girl of the week sat down, beer in hand, and we began to bowl. We were in the fifth frame when the GOTW jumped out of her seat like she had been shocked with a cattle prod, and ran up to an older woman who had just entered the alley. EagleMan was bowling, leaving me to think to myself, who the fuck is that?

[Part 2 Tomorrow]

Cheating

2006-07-21T03:05:00.002-05:00

Ahhh, the Honor Code. Is there anything that is more conflicting? I want to preserve the sanctity of the education process, and report any violators of the Honor Code, but I also do not want a blind Al Pacino coming around the corner whacking me with his cane screaming, "You are not a Baird Man! Hoo-Wah!"

Thankfully, this is something I do not have to concern myself with right now. That is definitely a bridge I will cross when I come to it.

But I have a confession to make. I cheated. It was not my best moment, but I was trapped by competing pressures, and there was only one way out of the situation. I had to cheat.

It happened in the sixth grade. Junior High had just started, and I was in a whole new world. All around me, the girls who had towered over me in elementary school were suddenly getting shorter, but like me, they were growing, just in a different place. With all those hormones, how could someone be expected to focus on something that suddenly became so trivial in the face of thousands of years of evolution and natural human instinct.

The triviality was a spelling test. This was in the days when spelling still mattered. Back then, we spelled it "you" not "u" and "for sure" not "fo' shizzle." If you want more examples, spend two minutes on Myspace. At this time, no one had heard of Spell Check. My typing class was conducted on an Apple IIe. I got an A when I was able to type 14 wpm with no errors. There was no instant messaging, and the internet was an abstract concept that neither Al Gore nor WarGames could help to explain. Needless to say, at this point in history, spelling mattered.

But this was not an ordinary spelling test. The phrase "Spelling Test" conjures images of the Spelling Bee, words that are impossible to say, and even more impossible to use in a sentence. The test in question was the exact opposite. It was one hundred of the most commonly words used in the English language. Words such as "that," "this," "and" "the." Everyone had to pass the exam. We took it once a day until everyone passed. Once you passed, you got to take a ten-minute nap while the slower students tried to figure it out.

Given my thoughts on studying, this was not a test I bothered to study for. But after a week without passing it, I began to get worried. The other kids in the class who were about as smart as me had already passed (all two of them), and I felt myself slipping behind. The birth of Ego.

After a week, I had 99 words right. I just could not get that last one. For some reason, I either thought there was an "E" on the end or could not remember if the second letter was an "H" or an "I." I was not at all confused by the homonym, even though it was a homonym with a different spelling. It was just, that while taking the test, I would begin to confuse myself. "How did I spell it last time? Did I use the e? Maybe I did not use the e? There has to be the e right? If there was not an e, the word would be too easy. Wait, what is the second letter? Is there an h or isn't there an h?"

So there I went, screwing myself into the ground, unable to pass this damn test.

So did the only thing I could think of. I cheated. The second week of the test, when that bastard word came up, I snuck a peek at my neighbors paper. He was a friend of mine, but I did not tell him, I just caught a quick glance. He spelled it without the "E" and "H" as the second letter. There was that moment of, "maybe he is spelling it wrong" but I got passed that, went with his answer, and passed the exam, relieved that I passed before 80% of the class.

This would haunt me for years. Since it is one of the one hundred most common words, I think about it every time I use it. It eats away at me, my moment of weakness, where I gave into temptation. OK, it's not that dramatic, I don't really care, but it happened, I cheated. I hope they don't ask about cheating in job interviews.

Oh, and what was the word? I will not tell you which word it was or which words it wasn't, but not counting this sentence, I was able to refrain from using it.

A New Years To Forget

2006-07-19T13:39:00.002-05:00

A couple weeks ago I wrote a post lampooning the Gay Games. It was all intended to be in good fun. I (predictably) received no comments on it, but one person told me that it was a little harsh. I am not here to be PC, hold my tongue, or give a crap about others opinions. I am only here to be myself, inform, split sides, bust guts, and make people say "What the fuck?" WTF being, "I never thought about that before" or "Oh my god, this guy is a fucking retard!"

Needless to say, that post about the Gay Games may have been out of bounds (like Lance Armstrong's joke about the Brokeback guy at the ESPYs), but it is all in good fun. One of my favorite sayings is that you have to "Separate the stuff from the stuff." (From the second greatest short-lived sitcom ever, Sports Night)

With that in mind, let me take you back a few years, to Dec. 31st. I was at least 21 at the time, in fact, I think it was my Senior year of college, my first New Years after turning 21 (I am not sure though, it may have been after I graduated, but I don't think so).

Since I lacked friends in my hometown (X-mas break remember) at the time, I called on an old friend to see what he was doing for New Year's. He told me that his girlfriend and him were going into the city to hang out with "Todd" and his friends. I know Todd, I like Todd, and faced with the alternative of sitting in the dark watching the shitty fireworks on Channel Five, I agreed to go into the city to hang out with Todd and his friends.

All told, it was a pretty small gathering. There was my friend and his girlfriend, Todd, Todd's brother (Rod), three other guys, and Todd's new boyfriend. Oh, and the three guys were gay too. Thankfully, they all loved to drink, except for my friend's girlfriend. We spent the early evening sucking down beers (and nothing else) making small talk, and having a pretty good time.

Good time meaning that I got hammered. I do not remember much of what happened while we were at Todd's apartment (in Wrigleyville a.k.a. Boystown, of course), but I do remember that I had an odd conversation with the girlfriend. She was straight as an arrow (like, no drugs, booze, cigarettes, etc) and I proclaimed to her my desire to go shrooming.

Some background. I did not drink until my freshman year of college. Also, my freshman year I was in the hallway of the dorm with an acquaintance, when a funky smell permeated the air, and I asked him, "What is that smell?" He replied, "Pot" with a skeptical look on his face. I did not smoke marijuana until my sophomore year in college, and in total, I probably smoked it no more than ten times in my life. Hell, I did not even smoke my first cigarette until I was 19. Needless to say, I pretty much follow the straight and narrow path too. I have never done any drug harder than pot (is that even hard?) and really never intend to. But I was drunk, and when I try to make conversation with a shy girl I find that when you say something completely absurd it is either hit or miss. It will engage her or completely turn her off. Considering this was my friend's girlfriend, and I follow the rules, she had nothing to gain by brushing me off, and so I went into a lengthy explanation of why it would be fun to do a hallucinogen, but not a really bad hallucinogen like LSD.

So while I was espousing my [fake] desire to go shrooming, the rest of the room was planning the "where do we go from here." The others came to a consensus that we should go to a bar (at some point we cheered the New Year, but personally, I do not really care about that retarded holiday). Todd asked me if I wanted to come along, and I readily agreed. My friend was tired or some bullshit, and was going to crash with his girlfriend at Todd's place.

So, around 12:30 a.m. on the first day of 2003, I headed with six other guys to try to find some action. Unfortunately, it was not the type of action that I am into. Other than myself, the party included Todd, Todd's boyfriend, Rod, and three other guys. At the time, Rod and I were the only straight ones. Rod is an interesting character himself, a guy who lost his virginity to a Mexican hooker, and who would two years after this incident, confirm what we all knew, that he was a homosexual.

I am not here to debate if homosexuality is something you are born with, or a result of societal influence. All I know, is that Rod and Todd's dad is a pretty cool guy. I once went to a Cubs game with him, and had a gay ole time (like the Flintstones) and afterwards we went to the Cubby Bear, and the old man wanted to mack on all the young hot chicks. But who knows, it could have been the divorce, or they were born with the gay gene.

Anyway, the crew went out, 2 hetero's (at the time) and five gays. Take a guess where we went. We jumped on the "L" and headed to a nightclub called "Berlin." My party tried to assure me that it was a cool place for people like me, but once we walked in, I realized I had been had.

It was an experience like none other. There were guys all over, and a lot of them were dancing with their shirt off. The house music was at full volume, and there was men as far as the eye could see. My "friends" first act upon entering the bar was to head to the coatroom, leaving me alone in this bastion of debauchery.

Instinct took over, and I headed straight to the bar. If I learned anything in my three and half years of college it was this, "When in doubt, Drink." So drink I did. I was already pretty hammered, but the 20 minute "L" ride gave my liver enough time to clear some space for more alcohol in my blood.

This was probably the only time in my life that I thanked God that I was not an attractive man. I was able to make it to the bar without anyone offering to buy me a drink. After I placed my order, Bud Light of course (surprising that they had it), I scanned the bar looking for anyone that did not have something hanging between their legs. I saw none. I took my beer and retreated to the darkest corner of the bar, anxiously awaiting my "friends" return from the coatroom.

I spied them, 20 minutes later, acting quite giddy. "Where the fuck were you?" I screamed. "Sorry, long line," Todd answered. Yeah right, for the bathroom. Surrounded by people who would not try to cornhole me, I felt a little safer. I mean, no guy approaches a group of girls and guys to hit on the girls. That would just be stupid.

But I made a horrible mistake. As closing time was nearing, I saw someone that looked that familiar. Like a guy I had gone to high school with. Within the protection of my group, I dropped my guard a bit, and when I was staring at this kid, trying to figure out if I knew him, he made eye contact with me. Just as if this would have happened with a female, I quickly looked away, but could feel his eyes boring a hole in me. They say you should not stare at the sun, but sometimes you just have to check to see if it is really a bad idea.

So I gave him a quick glance, and he smiled. There is something addicting about a smile. I have only experienced this first hand, I have never caused it to happen. When I smile at a girl, they invariably, never smile back. But when someone smiles at me, I cannot help myself. The corners of my mouth creep up ever so slightly, and that is all it takes in a gay bar.

Then, the voice of God proclaimed, "LAST CALL!" I bobbed and weaved my way back to the bar. $20 in hand, I called to the shirtless bartender, "Jack and Coke, light on the Coke!" He was probably expecting that I was trying to gain courage to lose my anal virginity that night, though I had no such designs, and he gave me a double shot, and did not charge me extra. Drink in hand, I headed back to my crew, hoping to have thrown my new "friend" off the path.

My drink was nearly gone before I got back to them. I walked into the middle of a conversation, of which I heard, "Hell yeah, we need some goddamn food." Recently reunited with my group, I threw in my two cents, "Yes, I need some fucking food. I want PANCAKES!"

Maybe I should not have screamed that. But they all agreed, and after I finished my drink two seconds later, we were heading towards the door. Unfortunately, so was everyone else. The bar was closed. Among the throng heading towards the door was my new friend, who was not really a friend at all.

He followed us out of the bar, a calculating two steps behind. I hung close to my friends, in a "Hey look, I am gay with them" manner. But my new friend only had eyes for me. He was watching me. Staying one step behind. And when we entered the morning darkness on the first day of 2004 around 3 a.m., he put his hand on the small of my back and said, "How are you?"

I panicked, I fled, I tried to get away from there as soon as possible. I fled back to my gay friends. And they protected me. Todd, though drunk, had the wherewithal to assess the situation, and understand what was going on. That may have been the only time in my life I did not mind another man touching me.

We headed out, got on the "L", headed to some breakfast place (waited 20 minutes at 4 a.m. WTF), loaded up on a greasy breakfast, headed back to Todd's, and (I at least) passed the fuck out.

In all honesty, this was a great experience for me. I do not regret it. In fact, maybe every straight guy should go to a gay bar at some point in his early 20's. Just to know what it is like.

[Note: There are a lot of things I could have talked about, but Tucker Max also had an experience going to a gay bar in Chicago, and he writes better than I do, so you can read his account here (it really starts with Part 2). His story is one of the reasons I was reluctant to write this, but que sera, sera right. Also, there are some other stories with Todd, so stay tuned, I may write them up.]

A Little Light Summer Reading

2006-07-19T00:37:00.002-05:00

I generally try to avoid non-fiction books while on vacation. Slow reader that I am, an endless stream of facts slows me down even more. I prefer a light, breezy fiction work, that I can steam through at a torrid pace. Then, when vacation is done, I can gloat and say I read five books in five days. But after reading a terrible book by some guy who went to UC Berkley's Boalt School of Law, I had to read something that would be worthwhile.

So, I picked up a biography of Vince Lombardi, When Pride Still Mattered by David Maraniss. The one thing that annoyed me about this book was that the author felt compelled to show off his vocabulary. I am good with words, right? Anyone who can use the word "didactic" in sentence, please raise your hand. There was a multitude of octosyllabic words, which slowed me down even more (and I did not have my dictionary with me). The author's . . . uhm . . . big vocabulary just bothered me because this is a football book. I am sure plenty of football fans read the first ten pages, then put it down, never to pick it up again.

Anyway, I do not want to rant about my limited vocabulary, just wanted to make a point about knowing your audience (and yes, I understand that his audience may be more business big shots and politicians than Freddie the butcher).

Which is the perfect segue to the most interesting fact that I extracted from this book. Granted, the fact took up a mere four sentences in the 500 page book, but it is easy to see why it caught my eye.

Vince is most remembered for his belief in winning being the only thing that matters (I am paraphrasing). Seems to me, the guy would have made a great corporate lawyer. Always going for the jugular, not accepting anything less than the complete and total submission of the opponent. However, Vince was not cut out for the legal career, but it is not as though he did not try. The Great Vince Lombardi went to law school for a semester. And then dropped out.

Apparently, great men learn early on that going to law school is not the correct path for achieving greatness (Sorry Holmes).

Second Thoughts

2006-06-24T21:25:00.002-05:00

At some point in my life, I decided that I wanted to be a Lawyer. Only time will tell if I was correct, or completely misjudged myself. However, I recently learned things that make me think I made the wrong decision.

I have tried to avoid one thing like it was the plague in my life, and no, it is not a meaningful relationship with another human being. Apparently, when you pass the Bar, you get fingerprinted. This is not good. My whole life I have successfully avoided being fingerprinted, and now it is only a matter of time. Even the time the cop took me downtown, I was able to avoid touching the ink pad.

The printing will occur in two years, meaning that the Statute of Limitations will not have run yet for most of the fun crimes. Not that I ever plan on committing any crimes, but it was nice to have that option available.

Oh well, guess from now on, I will always wear latex gloves. Or at least I can procure one of those devices from Men In Black.

Gay Games? Really?

2006-06-23T00:54:00.002-05:00

Apparantly there is something called the Gay Games being held in Chicago. Like you, I at first thought that this would involve contests such as who can deep-throat the longest Italian sausage or who can find the most dimes in the 1970's style shag carpeting with her mouth.

It really is just a festival type thing. I couldn't care less about it. But I was wondering if after the championship softball game, if they play "Big Girls Don't Cry"?

Ok enough of that. I am starting something new for the next couple of weeks. A totally gay idea (as in stupid, moronic). It will be my own Gay Games. This is what I am going to try. Short Posts. A couple of jokes, and I am out. I am not sure if I can do it, but I will give it my best.

Monkeys in a Monkeyhouse

2006-06-18T21:39:00.002-05:00

Have you ever gone to the Zoo? Of course, everyone has gone to the Zoo. Have you ever stopped by the monkey house? Of course you have, everyone looks at the monkeys. And I bet that for 95% of you, when you saw them, you thought they were pretty boring. They were just sitting around, eating, shiting, and sleeping. Everyone is disappointed by the monkey house. We were brought up on Curious George, and these monkeys in captivity have gotten lazy.

But have you ever gone to the zoo and stayed in the monkeyhouse for six hours, watching the same pen of monkeys? Pretty much no one ever has. After all, you miss the llamas and zebras and elephants and lions and tigers if you watch one boring animal for the entire day. But you watch them for the whole day, and you get the good with bad. Sure, there is a lot of downtime, but them monkeys like to play too. You watch that long, you are sure to see some tail pulling, feces throwing, chasing, screeching, upside down hanging going on with all the monkeys. And if you are really lucky, you might see a full fledged fight. Not a couple of prepubescent wannabe alpha males tussling, but a full fledged fight. You never know, but if there is a ever a day when you have absolutely nothing to do, and no idea what to do, head down to the zoo, go into the monkey house, and stake out some monkeys for the entire day. But bring a book.

Of course, there is a reason that I am bringing this up now. Yep, you know the reason, Hockey. Game 7 of the Stanley Cup final starts at 8:15 pm Eastern (on Monday June, 17). It is game seven, this one is for all the marbles. This is what sports is all about. Maybe I should have saved the story for something better, but I am using it now. It is not enough to just flip to the game every now and then, you should watch the whole thing (FYI, Intermission is 20 minutes). If you just flip to it, its a bunch of guys skating around, up and down the ice, but if you watch the whole game, you will several unbelievable things. Like this from last nights game:

It is a little hard to see, but the goalie made the save. I was out of my chair screaming when I saw that (Go 'Canes). The goalie, Cam Ward, has made some unbelievable saves in the playoffs, and whoever said you need a lot of scoring for a game to be exciting is a moron (US v. Italy, great game, though it was a tie, only 2 goals, and the US really did not score).

So for the last, hear my plea, watch some hockey. It is on NBC on Monday, and the puck drops at 8:15 pm Eastern. (Note: The ratings are still abysmal, From SI this week, The series telecast switched from OLN to NBC for Game 3 and "Game 3 last Saturday posted a 1.7 overnight rating, among the lowest ever for a prime-time network broadcast . . . .")

Overtime? Hell No!

2006-06-15T05:11:00.002-05:00

For the first time since my first job (golf caddie, approx. 11 years ago), I have refused to work extra hours at my job (I am NOT working a legal job. If I were, things would be different). Being a caddie sucked, but since then, my eye has been on the prize. Even if it was working an extra hour a week for seven bucks, over the course of a year, it added up to $364. That is some nice bank (course nowadays, it does not cover the bills for a month, but I digress). Working an extra hour here and there was easy for me to rationalize. I was always up for more work. In truth, I do not mind working, after all, at least I am being productive. What else am I going to do with that hour? Watch TV, drink some beer, and rub one out? Sure that is all well and good, but I would rather make some money.

So today, when my boss came and asked me if I could stay late, I refused, without hesitation. Then, my other boss came by and asked me again, and my reply was a terse, "Nah." Thankfully, none of my other six bosses came by to ask, I may have given in, just to get them off my back (I got the damn memo). Granted, refusing to work OT is one of the perks of being hourly, but why did I refuse now, when I never did in the last 10 years? The answer is simple.

Law School.

(Bet you saw that one coming.) I have finally reached a point in my life where I have a modicum of direction, whether or not I want to be a lawyer or not, the needle is still pointed in that direction. Because of this, my future is beginning to take shape. My psychic powers show me forty-five years of 80-90 hour work weeks, partly because I want to succeed, partly because I am perfectionist, and partly because I cannot trust others, and mostly because that is what it takes to make Partner, and once you make Partner, well, that is not the time to start slacking off. Granted, I may not get a job at a prestigious firm, but any lawyer who has clients is on call 24/7. Whether you are a criminal defense attorney showing up on a Saturday for an arraignment, or a divorce attorney being called up because the wife took the dog, or a regular run of the mill attorney being called up at 9 p.m. by a small local business because they have a big order to fill by 8 a.m. the next morning, and their supplier has not yet shipped the boxes (yeah, they call the lawyer last), there really is no freedom from the oppression of the job. Maybe that is why Lady Justice's scales are permanently out of balance.

Is this the life I want? Maybe, probably, and because of this, forget working overtime. In the past, it was really all about the money. Today, it is about the summer of [Lawschoolrules]. The Summer of [Lawschoolrules]!! Fuck if I am going to bust my ass when I have the rest of my life for that shit.

Or maybe it was because Game Five of the Stanley Cup final was tonight. The damn Oilers won in Overtime.

Drunken Fun

2006-06-12T02:47:00.002-05:00

I went down to the southside tonight to take in a Sox game. They put up a good fight, down by eight heading into the bottom of the Ninth, and proceeded to score six runs. Not quite enough, but still exciting. They almost came back.

However, the fun really started after I got back to mny Best Friends house, who took me to the game. He is just getting out of a long term relationship, and is looking for something different, so he posted a profile on Match.com. anyway, I was at his place, and he got an e-mail from some girl on the site. While he was making himself some ribs, I decided to to compose a reply to the e-mail that was sent. He decided not to use it, but laughed several times while he read it, so I will now share it with you.

Hey, thanks for the response. Do not worry about the smoking though, as my philosophy in life is smoke them if you got them. However, I do understand that your career choice might frown upon smoking. After all, the last time that I went to get a massage, I dropped fifty bucks for the happy ending and it was totally ruined by her skanky breath. But hell, at least she swallowed. Hopefully you will do the same.

I love going to concerts. Two years ago, I had my own PR by going to 34 shows. It was ubeleivable. I cannot hear shit anymore, which will be nice since I will not have to hear you bable on about some stupid ass shit, but concerts are still loud enough that I can still hear the bass line! So as long as you are not looking to go see Yo Yo Ma, I think we could have a good time. As luck would have it, I have an extra ticket to Warped Tour on July 30th. Maybe you could come with us. It would be a rocking good time. I dont drink, so I can keep my asshole friends' hands off of you. However, after Zebrahead takes the stage, we will all probably be so ramped up that we will gang bang you in the Port-A-Potty.

And as for my tatoos, they defy description. I actually had my pubes removed by means of a laser, and I have a very nice message tatooed above my woman pleaser. Of course, I would be happy to show this to you, and my other 11 tatoos, but only after you show me your strategically placed tatoo, and are down on your knees. If you are a more conservative girl, and do not want to jump right in, I would be happy to show you my perice nipples, so long as I get to play with your nipples for five minutes first.

Thanks for sending me an e-mail. I hope to hear from you soon.

Bada-Bing, Bada-Boom--

[My Buddy's Name]

54th Post Extravaganza!!! Part Deux

2006-06-09T23:01:00.002-05:00

a.k.a. The 55th Post Espectacular!!!

After ranting for several paragraphs about not knowing a thing about women, I concluded with this.

The inspiration for this post happened a few days ago. A girl came to class wearing a white t-shirt. Just a regular normal t-shirt. Unfortunately it was not a V-Neck, but it was a plain old white t-shirt. I have never seen anything hotter in my life. I was half-stocked the entire class. I do not know what it was, maybe it was the fact that she is stacked and the shirt was a little tight and the classroom was a little cold, but I do not think that any of those factors are conclusive. She was not particularly made up that day, I think her hair was in a ponytail, and she might have been wearing flip-flops, but the plain white shirt made my head spin. She may have noticed the drool coming out of my mouth, as in the class we had an hour later she was wearing a sweatshirt, but it could have been because it was a little chilly in the classrooms.

Unfortunately, she has a boyfriend. But, I think that may have been what did it for me. She was wearing a T-shirt that probably belonged to a guy. Personally, I cannot think of anything hotter than a girl wearing one of my shirts and nothing else.

I was going to write a list of reasons why law school is like second grade, but I only got through one before I passed out. I should have come back to this, but never did.

Lack of Self-Monitoring--In Second Grade you felt the complete freedom to ask whatever you wanted to, whenever you wanted to. Say you were learning subtraction (2-1=?) and someone would raise his hand and ask, "Teacher, why is the grass green?" Sometimes it seems like that in class. Second-graders can blame short attention spans though.

And Finally, sometimes I write strange things in my notes, so I figured that while I was making outlines, I would post all the funny things in my notes. Turns out most of them are not funny. Regardless, after finishing my second exam, I started freaking out (actually, I just got lazy), so I did not record things from all my notes, but here are the best ones I got.

What the hell is someone doing with $19,000 worth of jewelry at a Wal-Mart in the Ghetto?
If tavern owners are supposed to stop serving drunks, why have I been escorted out of bars by cops?
Do not assume that the most apparent meaning is the correct meaning. Stay Loose (slut).
48% of statistics are made up, including this one.
Three Kinds of Lies in this society: Lies, Damnable Lies, and Statistics.
To permit the railroad to choose something. Whoops, too much Free Cell.
It is very nice and concise and has cherries on top.
Biggest Lies—Checks in the Mail, and the Second on is—“I am from the government and I am here to help you"
To a hammer, everything looks like a nail.
The court leads off with the negative implication rule. And it starts by saying, That class is over!
Some dude invented the case method of legal education. Asshole.
Judge Traynor is a hippie. But a smart hippie.
Whoa, I have tuned out the last ten minutes or so
If the facts favor your client hammer on the facts, if the law favors your client hammer on the law. If neither favors your client, hammer on the opposing counsel.
I don’t know what the hell he said. Stop playing solitaire.
What the hell what is the point of this? I should have stayed at home and taken a nap.