What the hell, another link

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?

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

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

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?

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).

and then nothing turned itself inside out

My Odd Fetish?

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

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

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).

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

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 . . .

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

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?

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

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.