BuffaloWings&Vodka

Signing Off

There’s nothing funny about law school.

There’s nothing funny about eating at Subway 8 times a week, but only showering once.

There’s nothing funny about being called on unprepared and falling on your face in front of 120 classmates. And even less that’s funny about being called on when you’re prepared, only to fail anyway.

There’s probably nothing funny about six-figure student loan debt. Though, if you think about it, seven-figure student loan debt would be pretty hilarious.  But there’s definitely nothing funny about having your whole night ruined by an improperly italicized em-dash. Or period. Or space.  And there’s nothing funny about spending your whole life studying and taking tests only to then take a test that will allow you to spend three more years studying and taking tests, after which, as a reward, you get to study for and take the stupidest test in the history of tests.

No, looking back at it, there really wasn’t much of anything funny about law school.

But somehow we still managed to laugh. Quite a bit, I think.

So . . . try to remember that. Try to remember that, yes, we are going into a humorless business full of uptight, soulless pricks. But it can only stay a business full of uptight, soulless pricks if we all in fact become uptight, soulless pricks.

So here’s to the eternal preservation of the soul, the endless suppression of uptight prickery.

Here’s to getting a laugh out of the law everyday. And not a lame, bullshit laugh like “Heh-heh, that guy went to a state school” or “Oh man, she must have missed the bonus this year--she’s  shopping at Banana Republic.”

Make it a real laugh. 

Here’s to dropping the Ludacris footnote into your judge’s opinion, or the GHB in the hiring partner’s coffee, or your pants at the firm Christmas banquet.  Here’s to providing fodder for the hundreds of law students blogging about their clerkships each summer. Here’s to setting aside a few minutes out of each day--each of the thousands of days we’ll spend in this serious profession--to take ourselves a little less than seriously.  Seriously.

It’s been an odd but rewarding experience to inflict myself upon the world for the last three years, and during that time this blog has managed to poke into my real life in more ways than I ever could have expected. It got me a job. It got me called out in class. It got me tens of tens of dollars in advertising revenue, and one time it even got me sweet concert tickets. But I’ve needed to call it quits for quite some time, and that time is finally now.

The hope: That putting an end to my blogging activities will finally force me to finish at least one of the countless “legitimate” writing projects I’ve started since puberty.

The reality: Don’t be surprised when you stumble upon the anonymous blog of a Texas practitioner whose obsession with Russian gymnasts and his own rock-hard abs seems more than a little familiar.

 I’d like to thank everyone who’s read this over the last 40 months, particularly those who’ve taken the time to comment, or those who came here looking for porn. I liked to think of my comments section as a sort of treehouse for law students who didn’t have time to meet in a real treehouse, which, now that I type it, is sort of sad and makes me wish that I’d just built a treehouse instead. But, anyway, thanks for reading.

I’d like to thank the network administrators at each and every American law school for making wireless internet access available in classrooms. Without you, my readership would have consisted mainly of my mom. (And maybe Professor Brian Leiter, provided that I took the time to mention him so that his weekly self-Google would bring him here.)

I’d like to thank my wife, who put up with this shit, and only rarely took the time to make fun of me on my own blog.

And last, but most importantly, I’d like to thank Harriet Miers, without whom none of this would have been possible.

So long, and thanks for all the outlines.

--Mike

A Brief Taxonomy of Classroom Participation Strategies

The Preemptive Strike

A calculated move to pick off low-hanging fruit early in a given class period, with the hope that you'll be able to avoid being called on later to talk about something you haven't read.  Caution: If done too well, can sometimes backfire; the professor may like your answer so much that he drags you into being his Socratic punching bag for much longer than you'd intended. See Operation Iraqi Freedom.

Falling on the Grenade

If your professor has a semi-predictable pattern of calling on people, and you have reason to believe that one or several of your friends are a) unprepared, and b) about to be called on, the Christ-like thing to do is to raise your own hand in order to draw the professor's attention away from other students. Also known as The Rodeo Clown.

The Mercy Kill

Sometimes called the Ben Stein, this strategy is best employed to put an end to the deafening silence following a question that is either too hard or too easy, or to silence a professor that has said "Anyone?" more than four times in a row.

Playing Possum

For gunners finding it particularly hard to get called on, feigned distraction and boredom can often provoke the desired response.  Pretend to be asleep, or obsessed with your navel, or masturbating in class, and more often than not the professor will call on you, thinking you easy prey.  Make him regret it.

Playing Foreign LLM

If you happen to be unprepared, disaster can often be avoided by answering in a language cooler than English, like Korean, or Portuguese, or Canadian.

The Admiral Stockdale

Most professors will simply move on to the next student if faced with an answer like "POTATOES! I LIKE POTATOES! WHERE'S MY PONY? MOM? ARE YOU THERE? POTATOES!" Also known locally as "The Shawn Rutherford?"

The Marvin

I don't know Marvin.  I've never met Marvin.  And I'm pretty sure that he doesn't even go by the name Marvin.  But I have been told that once, when called on by name, while sitting in his assigned seat, Marvin successfully pretended that he was not, in fact, in class, and that a slightly confuzled professor was then forced to move on to the next student.  For that, Marvin, we salute you.

Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Haven't Read

Answer the prof's question with another question.  If he fires back with yet another question, it's on. If not, he loses, and you should tell him so.

The Paige Pipkin 

Really just a stalling tactic, forces the professor to clarify as many parts of the question as possible while you frantically flip pages in your case book: "Could you repeat the question?" "Could you say that one  word again?" "Could you give me the language of origin?" "Could you use it in a sentence?" "Could you use it in a sentence other than the original question?"

Scorched Earth Policy

If the professor is going to take you down, then you're going to take him down with you.  Pull in an unrelated law review article.  Cite Blackstone.  Bring up the war in Iraq.  Or abortion.    Calling your professor a racist is also good for this, though it often takes a little bit of creativity in some of the drier classes. Trust your instincts.

Scorched Nuts Policy

1. Spill  coffee. 2. On crotch.  3. Run away. 

Securities Regulation

"Mr. Laussade...could you please tell us about the Merrill Lynch case?"

"Umm...no?"

"What? You're not prepared?"

"I didn't think you'd get this far today.  It was a calculated risk."

"Not calculated very well.  And completely unhedged."

"Actually, I just took a huge short position in Mike'sGPA Futures right before class, so I'm feeling pretty okay about it."

Top Ten Covenants That Might Be Implied in Your Oil & Gas Lease

1. Implied Covenant to Prevent Drainage.

2. Implied Covenant Not to Wear a Shirt But No Pants.

3. Implied Covenant to Satisfy Wellington’s Rule of First Occlusion.

4. Implied Covenant Not to Mess with Somebody Else’s Halo 2 Game.

5. Implied Covenantry Carol.

6. Implied Ark of the Covenant.

7. Implied Covenant to Make Up Your Fucking Mind, Dr. McDreamy.

8. Implied Covenant to Not Like the BlackEyedPeas Even if the Hot Girl at the Club Says They’re Her Favorite Band.

9. Implied Covenant to Beat that Guy’s Ass if He Looks at You One More Time...Okay, Two More Times.

10. Implied Covenant to All Turn in Nothing But a Smiley Face for Our Exam So That Everybody Just Gets a B+.

Putting Out

“You’re really serious about this Deadweight Loss of Monogamy thing, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah. It could be huge.  I mean what could possibly be a sexier application of economic theory than sex?”

“Okay…so we have a husband and a wife.  Who’s the monopolist?”

“Let’s say it’s the husband.  He has, like, total market power in the relevant market.”

“Which is?”

“His wife.”

”So…what does he produce?”

”Let’s say that he is in the business of producing Wooing Effort.”

”Wooing effort?”

“Yeah. Because there are no competitors for him in this particular market, he is able to significantly reduce his output while still making the same profits. He is able to ouput less ‘Wooing Effort’ while still getting the same amount of ‘doing it’ from his wife.  There may be, at certain extreme levels, some elasticity in his wife's demand for his services, depending on how many barriers to entry there are, and on whether or not there are a significant number of potential market entrants waiting around.  But, for the most part, the husband is able to underproduce compared to the amount of effort he would generate in a competitive market.  Thus, the Deadweight Loss of Monogamy."

“But wait a second…can’t the wife control price and output just as much as the husband? Instead of being a transaction between a buyer and a seller, isn’t this really just . . . a marriage between two monopolists?”

“Dude. This is Texas. That's not allowed.”

Always Be Studying

The library.  Mike is seated at a study carrel. A 1L is in the carrel next to him. Mike is talking to him.

Mike: . . . all law schools smell vaguely of Diet Coke.  It gets so that you don’t mind it.  That’s the worst thing that I can confess.  You know how long it took me to get there?  A long time.  When you graduate you are going to regret the drinking you don’t do.  You think you’re a slacker?  I’m going to tell you something: we’re all slackers.  You think you’re a hack?  So what?  You lie awake at night worrying about the honor code . . . ?  Get shut of it.  Shut it out.  You cheated on your law school application? You did it.  Live with it.  You haven’t been to class since September—so be it.  Law school is a meritocracy?  May be.  And then what?  If you think it is, then be that thing.  Bad students don’t get jobs?  I don’t think so.  If you think that, study that way.  Some jobs are worse than being unemployed?  Yes.  And I won’t take them.  You ever read a law review article made you feel like you just studied for 12 hours . . . ?

1L: Th—this is the library.  Why are you talking to me?

Mike: The great exams that you may have written—what do you remember about them?

1L: What?

Mike: I don’t know.  For me, what I’m saying, what it is, it’s probably not the grade.  Some girl, putting in her earplugs.  Something your laptop did.  There was a case you cited . . . or, me, sitting, in the, I’ll tell you:  Me, finishing my exam two hours early; I hand the proctor my ScanTron; she touches my finger; my balls feel like casebooks.

1L: C-c-can I please study now?  You’re really bothering me.

Mike: And what is it that we’re afraid of? Failing.  What else?  The library closes. We get sick, my professor lost my exam, the job market collapsed, I got kicked out of law school.  What of these happen?  None of ’em.

1L: I’m going to call the librarian.

Mike: It’s been a long day.  What are you drinking?

1L: Uh…water?

Mike: Let’s have another one.  My name’s Mike.  What’s yours?

1L: James.  Why is your hand on my leg?

Mike: James, I’m glad to meet you.  I’m glad to meet you, James.  I want to show you something.  It might mean nothing to you . . . and it might not.  I don’t know.  I don’t know anymore.  (Takes out a small stack of paper and spreads it out on the desk.)  What is that? Contracts.  The UCC.  Contracts.  “Contracts. Bullshit.”  And maybe that’s true; and that’s what I said.  But look here—what is this?

This… is an outline.

Listen to what I’m going to tell you now:

More Elevator Conversation

“Man, I am so glad that callbacks are over.”

“You’re telling me. I feel like I’ve been on a plane for a month straight.”

“Now the only problem is figuring out how to split the summer.”

“Yeah. How’s it looking?”

“My first thought was to split four ways over sixteen weeks.”

“Nice. I was thinking a five-way split, over fifteen weeks.”

“I was thinking that, too. But I’d do five firms in five different cities.”

“That might be alright, if you’re playing it safe. Mine was going to be five firms on five different continents.”

“Hmm. Now I’m thinking that three weeks per firm is just too many.”

“I know. You can tell everything you need to know about a firm in two weeks.”

“So, maybe sixteen weeks, eight firms, four cities, two coasts?”

“Or fourteen weeks, seven firms, and one two-week booty binge in Cancun?”

“I like how you’re thinking. But who needs that many firms? I’ll go with this: Ten weeks, five firms, and then a six-week whoregasbord across Sweden, Cancun, and the Spanish Riviera.”

“Did you just say ‘whoregasboard’?”

“Yeah. ”

"Let's get a bagel."

As Promised...

...there will be no more Miers-bashing.  Because UT won--and my, was it glorious--I will hold my tongue.  I will keep to myself the list of Harriet Miers jokes that had been growing over the last few weeks. So you WON'T be hearing, from me, ANY of the following:

Knock-Knock. Who's there? Harriet Miers. Harriet Miers who? Exactly.

So a horse walks into a bar.  Bartender says, "Why the long face?" Horse says, "Because Harriet Miers is underqualified."

A priest, a rabbi, and a nun walk into a bar.  The priest says, "Harriet Miers is underqualified." The nun says, "I know."

Q: Who's less-qualified to hear Supreme Court cases than Harriet Miers? A: Harriet Miers with no ears.

A priest, a rabbi, and a nun walk into a bar.  The priest says,"But seriously. She's totally, ridiculously underqualified." The rabbi says, "I know. I think I hate God now."

Knock-Knock. Who's there? Harriet Miers is a lesbian. Really? No, not really.  But if she were a Democrat's nominee, you know that's what the GOP would be saying.  60? No kids? Not married? Please.

Harriet Miers walks into a bar. Bartender says, "The Lottery Commission? Really?" Harriet Miers says,"It's okay. I'm a lesbian."

George Bush nominates Harriet Miers for the Supreme Court.  Man, that's hilarious.

-----

So, you can thank me for that.  It's not often that I show this kind of restraint.

UPDATE:  Forgot to mention that I also won't be mentioning one last joke. If you're my mom or somebody's kid, you should probably stop reading.

Conference Call (A Third Try For Clarity?)

Steve: We should do something nice for him.

Nino: Nice? This Court hasn’t had the chance to haze anybody in more than ten years, and you want to go nice?

Steve: Yeah. Maybe we could make him something. Like a hand-knit gavel cozy.

Ruth: Or like that cheese basket we gave you, Stephen. That was lovely.

Steve: The cranberry brie really was divine.

Nino: This is bullshit. He’s young, he’s good-looking, he must be abused upon arrival. I’m thinking saran-wrapped toilet seat and frozen boxers.

Ruth: That’s disgusting. What does JP think?

JP: We should shave his balls!

AK: Ugh. JP always wants to shave their balls. New associate justice? Shave their balls. Uppity clerk from Yale? Shave their balls. I swear to John Marshall, if I didn't spike his tea with lithium every morning, he'd try to shave my balls.

Clarence: Aren’t you guys worried that all of this might be trying just a little too hard? How’s he going to respect us if we’re willing to take four hours out of our day just to pick up a fondue set or plaster over his office door so that it looks like a blank wall?

Nino: Ooh. That’s a good idea. We could even put an electrical faceplate on it to really sell the gag. He’ll be all “Where’s my office?” and we’ll be all “What office? The Chief works out of the lobby. Don’t you remember?”

Ruth: A fondue set isn’t a bad idea, either.

Clarence: You people are idiots.

Dave: I say we focus on the robe. Maybe cut the ass out of it at the same time they remove the gold stripes.

AK: Oh! Instead of removing the stripes, we could just replace them. With pink ones.

Dave: And add a matching sash!

AK: Maybe a big Lady Justice broach with pink diamonds?

Dave: And a tiara!

Nino: GODDAM IT! GET YOURSELVES TOGETHER!

.

Steve: Looks like somebody got up on the wrong side of the commerce clause.

Nino: Look. If we screw this up, we’re setting a shitty precedent for God knows how long. This guy is going to be around for the next thirty years—if he doesn’t get hazed well, then how is he going know what to do once he’s the one responsible for hazing?

Ruth: I guess you’re right. The door plastering thing is pretty good.

Dave: And we could still do the robe, but leave off the tiara.

Nino: That’s more like it. Now—what do we do with the Miers chick? Anyone?

JP: Shave Her Balls!

15 More Minutes

WV: Hello?

NPR: Good Morning. This is Susan Suchandsuch from National Public Radio, and we were looking for some to comment on the Miers nomination. Do you have a second?

WV: Gosh. I don’t know. This is really a bad time.

NPR: Oh. I’m sorry. I don’t want to keep you from class or anything.

WV: Oh it’s nothing like that. It’s just that at the moment I’m busy sticking hot needles into my eyes.

NPR: Really?

WV: Yeah. It hurts a lot. Like freshly-zippered nuts.

NPR: I can imagine. Say, does this have anything to do with the nomination?

WV: Well, if by nomination you mean the naming of a woefully underqualified candidate who will never be confirmed but will achieve the White House goal of making Senate Democrats look like total cockknockers on national TV, eventually making me beg for the seasoned, experienced Alberto Gonzales to just put an end to it all, then, yeah. That and my Texas-OU ticket problem.

NPR: She’s that underqualified? Is having been a judge really that important?

WV: Not at all. But SMU? Are you kidding me?

NPR: You have a point.

WV: Also, you show me a Locke Liddell lawyer with a sense of humor, and I’ll show you a unicorn that can square a circle.

NPR: That seems a little unfair.

WV: Maybe. But this lady is SIXTY. You know Bush isn’t serious. She’s taking one for the team.

NPR: Can I quote you on that?

WV: Can I meet Terry Gross?

NPR: Uh, no.

WV: How about the All Things Considered guy?
NPR: Definitely not.

WV: Well, then, no.

NPR: But the underqualified/SMU/Unicorn stuff?

WV: Quote away.

NPR: Thanks.

What the Other Eight Supremes Got Sandra Day for A Retirement Gift

Rehnquist: $15 Circuit City Gift Card.
Thomas: Previously-viewed Boat Trip DVD.
Kennedy: Regifted six-slice toaster she gave him for his birthday.
Ginsburg: Was going to give the new Kanye West album until she listened to "Golddigga," at which point she decided to keep it for herself and just give a humongous bag of blow.
Stevens: His lucky bow tie.
Breyer: Dice clock.
Scalia: Surprised her by showing up to her chambers with a guitar and performing a soulful rendition of John Mayer's "Your Body is a Wonderland."
Souter: RoboSapien. Sweet.

Conversations That Could Have Filled the Awkward Silence Between Me and the Woman, Let's Call Her Noreen, Who Rode Up the Elevator With Me the Other Morning

ME: That's a lovely perfume you're wearing.  Is it Chanel?
HER:  Calvin Klein, actually.
ME:  Oh. Weird.  Well, my grandmother wears Chanel, and you look about
her age, so I just figured.

ME:  So…you work on sixty-three?
HER:  Yeah.
ME:  Does it bother you that that's a prime number?
HER:  Well, no, but I don't think that it is, actually.
ME: Huh?
HER:  It's divisible by three, I think.
ME: What's divisible by three?¬¬
HER:  Sixty-three is.
ME:  And I care because…?
HER:  You said it was a prime number, and I was just pointing out that—
ME:  Listen, lady, I was just trying to make conversation.  That
doesn't give you permission to pull me into your freaky, little world,
okay?

ME:  Deseo comer pescados con su primo el viernes. ¿usted tiene gusto
de aspirar mis dedos del pie?
HER:  I don't speak Spanish.
ME:  Neither do I.

HER:  Could you hit 61?
ME:  No problem.  There sure are a lot of buttons on this thing.
HER:  I guess so.
ME: I mean, there are way more than the fourteen buttons on that dress
you're wearing.

There Goes the Offer

Funny: Seeing a first-year associate at the urinal in the men’s room and playfully smacking him on the ass three times while yelling “Woo-Ha! Woo-Ha! I got you ALL in check!”

Not Funny:  Realizing in the middle of the third smack that he is not, in fact, that first-year associate, but rather, a partner you’ve never met before because he's been on vacation and you don’t go down to the 58^th floor much.

Possibly, But Probably Not, Funny:  Quickly posting about it in hopes that your willingness to take ownership of your mistakes will somehow overcome this.

A Case of the Mondays

“I need to talk to you about your hours.”

“Really? I’m on track for 2100 billable hours this year.  I, uh…”

“Well, okay, 2100 is the minimum, okay?”

“Okay . . . ?”

“Now, it's up to you whether or not you want to just do the bare minimum. Well, like Brian, for example, already has 2300 hours. And a terrific smile.”

“Okay. Okay, you want me to bill more?”

“Look. Mike.”

“Yeah?”

“People can get an LLC or a limited partnership drawn up anywhere, okay? They come to this firm for the dedication and the attitude. That's what the billable hours requirement is about. It's about fun.”

“Okay.  So, more then?”

“Look, we want you to express yourself, okay? If you think the bare minimum is enough, then okay. But some people choose to bill more and we encourage that, okay? You do want to express yourself, don't you?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Oh, and, Mike?”

"Uh-huh?"

"This really needs to be the last time that you rape this particular movie script. Really.  It's getting sad."

"Give me a break.  It wasn't even my idea in the first place.  Some lateral guy mentioned it to me. And it's Monday morning, for chrissake. "

"Alright, well, just don't let it happen again.  That's all I ask."

Elevator Conversation

"Morning, Clerk.  Running kinda late, aren't you?"

"I guess I am."

"Got an excuse?"

"Well, sometimes you just wake up in the morning and say: 'You know what? I think I'm going to give the hooker a ride home today.' "

Memorandum

TO: Dallas Partners and Associates

FROM: Mike the Summer Clerk

CC: wingsandvodka.blogs.com

RE: The Lunch Situation

Introduction

     It has been brought to my attention that, due to my late arrival at the firm, I will be the only summer clerk working in the Dallas office for the entire month of July. Though I am, of course, thrilled to have solo access to some of the world’s most exciting legal projects, I am also aware that this will cause a bit of a crunch when it comes to lunches, coffees, dinners, etc. Being the only clerk—and therefore the only free lunch ticket—I expect that my phone will begin ringing off the hook in a day or two, and I hope that this memo will bring some order to what could otherwise be a chaotic situation. I’ve outlined my solutions below.

1. Expanded Lunch Schedule

     Starting Tuesday, July 5th, I will be offering an expanded lunch schedule. Though it may impinge upon my work time a bit, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for the firm. My lunch period will be divided into two slots: An 11 AM to 12:45 PM slot and a 1 PM to 2:45 PM slot. This should afford twice as many attorneys the opportunity to dine with me, and, as a result, avoid situations like last Thursday’s Hair-Pull-a-Thon in the 59th-floor elevator lobby. If you would like to schedule one of these two lunch slots, you need only:

A. Check the master schedule to see which time slots are open.

B. Put together a proposal that includes the destination, anticipated budget, and expected attendees.

C. Submit the proposal to my secretary so that she can perform a conflicts check, as to minimize repetition of cuisine and/or company.

D. Upon receipt of e-mail confirmation from my secretary, send me a $50, non-refundable cash deposit via Inter-Department Mail.

E. Be outside my office no later than 15 minutes before our scheduled lunch date.

2. The “Coffee?—Yes!” Program

     As you know, I’ve developed a bit of a dependency on Starbucks products, to the point that six trips a day is pretty standard. As a result, I feel that I am wasting valuable firm time traveling to and from the ground-level Starbucks. But this will no longer be the case.

     Starting tomorrow, I will be officing at the rear-corner table in the Starbucks downstairs. I have procured a laptop and ample office supplies, as well as a more comfortable office chair, and all of my calls will be forwarded to the cashier. Additionally, should e-mail not be adequate, Starbucks management has agreed to allow me use of their fax machine, free of charge. (I have not yet solidified my copy machine arrangement, but a solution is forthcoming.)

     As a result, should you feel like taking me out for coffee, you need not go the usual route of e-mailing and waiting for a response. Instead, simply come downstairs, purchase an Iced Venti Quad Mocha (no whipped cream) along with whatever you yourself might like to drink, and sit down in my new office for what promises to be an enlightening chat.

3. The Virtual Clerk Lunch© 

     Finally, should you find that you’ve procrastinated to the point that, by the time you call, my lunch schedule is already full, do not panic. All is not lost. For a nominal processing fee, you can still sign up for The Virtual Clerk Lunch©. Here’s how it works.

     Choose a dining location as you normally would, and then, based on my probable ordering behavior (which can be calculated according to the attached MikeMenuMatrix), calculate the entire cost of the lunch, tax and gratuity included. After you generate a total, write a check for that amount (plus the $12.95 processing fee), payable to me. Once your check has cleared, you will receive (within 5 to 7 business days):

--A fully itemized receipt, listing what we would have eaten based on the amount paid.

--A detailed account of our lunch conversation, including documenation of all witty anecdotes, first-run jokes, and Greek literary references.

--A lifelike, 5 x 7 photo of you and me at a lunch table, generated by my graphic arts department.

--A copy of my calendar, retroactively altered to reflect our intimate outing.

--A signed reprint of the Zagat’s review I write based on the lunch.

--Commemorative stamp, featuring either the Young Mike or the Old Mike (vote pending).

Conclusion

     It is my belief that the above innovations will create a more pleasurable clerkship environment for everyone involved. If you have any questions, feel free to call me at extension XXXX any time before 11 AM or after 2:45 PM, and just ask for “Mike, the Guy With the Mocha.” Thanks.

And You Thought the Wills & Estates Thing Was a Waste of Time...

I'm competing in a firm-sponsored mock trial this Friday, and though they keep saying that this is just for fun and has nothing to do with my getting an offer, their body language and tone of voice make it very clear that if I don't win big tommorrow, I'm probably out.

So I'm trying for every possible advantage.

Which is why I just finished drafting this, a motion to transfer venue from conference room 57C to conference room 60A .  I think I'm going to start using it as my writing sample.

Taking Procrastination to an Entirely New Level.

Trying to study for Wills & Estates. Wanted to become better acquainted with the Texas Probate Code. Also wanted something I could jam to on the treadmill. Came up with....well....check this out.

Why They Shouldn't Let Me Talk to Prospective Students

“Hey, sure, come in and sit down. Sorry the office is such a mess. So…what schools are you deciding between?”

“It’s down to UT and Chicago. I just came from Chicago, so I’m down here checking things out.”

“Well, I can tell that our weather beats the crap out of theirs. I don’t know about you, but I’d come to Texas just to get away from the cold.”

“Oh, the cold isn’t really a problem for me. I lived in Siberia for a year.”

“Where? You mean, like, Montana or something?”

“No, I mean I actually lived in Siberia. Russia. Studying geology.”

“Oh, Wow. Well, I guess the cold wouldn’t be a problem then. But Texas is still the only place to be. You know, I was looking at Michigan for awhile, but I just couldn’t bear to go to a place with crappy Mexican food.”

“I hate Mexican food. I’m from Utah.”

“I see. Well, I guess someone has to be from there, right? Ha!”

“What else do you think UT has to recommend itself? I mean, up at Chicago they told me that I could have my pick of jobs, even if I graduate in the bottom quarter of the class, and that at UT I’d never have those kind of options.”

“Wow—Jack, is it?—I don’t really know what to say to that. I mean, though I’m sure it sounded nicer when they said it, they’re pretty much right. It’s a lot easier to be on the bottom at Chicagothan it is at Texas. But we have one thing they don’t have.”

“What’s that?”

“Thousands of hot Texas undergrads. I swear, Jack—“

“It’s Zack.”

“Uh-huh. You have no idea just how many of them they are. They all come out in the fall and think that they’re supposed to dress up and—“

“Actually, I’m married.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, which was another reason that Chicago appealed to me. Lots of married people.”

“Well, hey, I’m married, too, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate—“

“Is the Mormon church fairly big around here?”

“Sorry?”

"The Mormon church. I’m LDS. I’m looking for a strong Mormon community.”

“Oh! Oh sure, actually we have quite a few—FUCKING COCKKNOCKING FUCKERS!!!”

“I-I—Excuse me?”

“YOU FUCKING SONS OF BITCHES! WHO STOLE MY JOLLY RANCHERS?”

“Your—like…the candy?”

“Yes, the goddam candy! I used my own money and bought a five pound bag of Jolly Ranchers for my office, and put them in this jar.”

“I don’t—what’s the problem? It seems full to me.”

“Are you fucking blind, Johnny Utah? Everybody knows that I only like three flavors, so I picked those out and put them in this jar here. Then, out of the goodness of my heart, I put the Grape and Blue Raspberry back into the bag and put that bag out in the lounge so that everyone else could have them. But you’ll notice that, somehow, this jar now contains only Grape and Blue Raspberry. Some soulless jerkwad raped my Jolly Rancher Jar!”

“And you think they put the Cherry and Apple and Watermelon back in the bag and took it out into the lounge?”

“Well, probably—wait a minute. Wait a goddam minute. How could you know that the ones they stole were Cherry, Apple, and Watermelon?”

“It’s pretty obvious. There are only five flavors to begin with, and—“

“You couldn’t, that is, unless YOU were the one who STOLE THEM!”

“What? Me? This is ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous? You steal MY candy and call ME ridiculous? I’ll have your goddam head for this!”

“I think I’m going to leave now.”

“Go ahead! Leave, you thieving communist! Run to Chicago. You can’t hide from me! I WILL find you! Justice will be done!”

“I’m out of here. You’re insane.”

“I Will Have My Retribution! A Pox Upon YOU! BLOOD! BLOOD! I WILL HAVE IT! I WILL HAVE IT!!!!”

“…”

“Alrighty then. I'd say that went pretty well.”

What the Supremes Are Going to Be For Halloween

Breyer: Max Headroom

Rehnquist: The Great Pumpkin

O’Connor: “This IS My Costume” T-Shirt and a Silly Hat

Souter: The Internet

Scalia: Starsky

Stevens: The Ghost of Rick James

Thomas: Either Carmen SanDiego or the Full Faith and Credit Clause

Kennedy: The Indian

Ginsburg: Martin Short

Excerpts from the Forthcoming Book, If BlueBooks Could Talk: An In-Depth, Behind-the-Scenes Look at the Texas Law Review

“Passcode?”

“What?”

“I need your passcode,” repeats the bodyguard stationed outside of Law Review Headquarters. He’s about 6’4”, 265, and though the work he’s done on his lats suggests that he’s going for that LL Cool J look, his freakishly wide shoulders put him a lot closer to former NBA forward Anthony Mason. (I’m to learn later that he actually is Anthony Mason.)

“I wasn’t aware that I needed a passcode. I was, uh, invited.”

“A courier should have brought you a Palm with the passcode loaded on it sometime last week .”

Great. And I threw that thing out because I was sure it was just another law firm promo piece. In the past week I’ve received the usual slew of lookbooks and DVDs, plus a few gift towers from Harry & David’s, half a dozen cookie bouquets, and a surprisingly good singing telegram. I thought the Palm was just another gimmick.

“Umm…I seem to have lost that. Isn’t there some sort of list or something?”

“Yeah, but I’ll need to draw some blood to verify your identity against the law school database.”

“Is that absolutely necessary?”

“They would have needed it later anyway. We screen for most genetic disorders. Just a precaution.”

“I see.”

* * *

Once in the complex—just a bit lightheaded and with a sore arm…Mason’s vein-finding skills definitely leave something to be desired—I understand the need for security. There must be three million dollars’ worth of equipment in the waiting room alone. I’m told that they’re in the process of shifting around some supplies, and that’s why the waiting room couches and tables are covered with dozens of laptops, servers, plasma screens, satellite phones, stun-guns, rocket-propelled grenade launchers, various small arms, and a box containing something like 300 IPod Minis. I’m impressed, and when the EIC walks in I feel compelled to ask the obvious question:

“Uh, dude? What are you going to do with all of this shit?”

Only 25, but with the steely-eyed stare of a man of 27, the EIC cuts an impressive figure. On this particular day he’s chosen to leave the Hugo Boss at home, and is sporting his snakeskin jacket, which he frequently claims to wear because it “symbolizes [his] individuality and belief in personal freedom.” I’m not really sure what’s up with that, but it’s clear that I should be intimidated. And I am. It’s been rumored that he’s had affairs with half the women on the journal, most of the female faculty, and even a few circuit court judges. He’s already signed a seven-figure book deal with Simon & Schuster, and he actually does most of his journal work from West Palm Beach, where he runs a successful night club/feed store, which is why I feel more than a little bit honored when he actually decides to answer me.

“Well, that depends on which shit you’re talking about. We’re bringing in the servers and extra workstations to handle our newest project. Since we upped the hours requirement to 250 per semester, we’ve got a bit of surplus capacity, so we’ve decided to take on some extra cite-checking work for a few of the higher-ranked journals. Normally I’d feel weird about letting them take credit for our work, put they pay well. It’s bringing in enough extra cash that we’ll be able to rent a Gulfstream before Volume 84 comes out.”

“That’s great,” I say. “But what about the weaponry?”

“Well, we’ve received credible reports of other UT journals’ plans to move in on our coffee supply. We get some pretty great Sumatran stuff flown in every week, and I’m not willing to let any of it slip through our fingers. Also, we’re worried about some of the untenured profs trying to infiltrate the office and screw with the article review program. We find that the anti-personnel mines are pretty effective at dealing with that.”

“Wow. And the IPod minis?”

“Oh, those? I stole ‘em out of the back of a BestBuy truck. I wish they’d had more pink ones, though.”

At this point he takes out and lights an impossibly huge cigar. Seemingly on cue, three Russian prostitutes (I only call them that because of the way they were dressed—they could just as easily have been Lithuanian prostitutes) enter from the right, each carrying a machete and a brandy snifter. I’m pretty sure that I recognize one from her website.

“Mike,” the EIC says, and I’m completely floored to find out that he knows my name. “Would you mind excusing us for a little bit? Veronika here has a substantially complete student note of publishable quality that she really needs me to look over, and I really can’t put it off any longer. Anthony can show you the way out.”

“Sure thing, Boss. I’ll, uh, catch you later.” I turn and walk out slowly, the door closing behind me just as the sounds of Al Green reach my ears. I always knew that being the head honcho was a sweet gig, but just how sweet had remained unclear until now. I feel that something inside me has been irrevocably altered, but I’m not sure what. I also feel that I need to get to work on my student note.

Mostly, though, I need to pray.

What the Supremes Are Doing Over the Labor Day Weekend

Thomas: Catching up on TiVo'd episodes of One Tree Hill.

Scalia: Hosting his annual Labor Day cookout featuring the Scalia family originalist recipe barbecue sauce.

Rehnquist: Attending Scalia's barbecue and complaining about the carb content of the sauce and how he's "never going to lose three robe sizes by the spring term without a little goddam support."

Kennedy: Filming his episode of MTV Cribs, wherein he'll show off his Scarface bedspread and his full-size Cyberball arcade game.

O'Connor: Holing up with a case of Arbor Mist and drunk-dialing old boyfriends.

Breyer: Finally finishing Ninja Gaiden on Xbox.

Ginsburg: Haunting my dreams.

Souter: Seeing Wicker Park. Seven times.

Stevens: Getting all excited about the Northwestern game on Saturday; finding out that it was actually on Thursday; figuring out what to do with four gallons of uneaten seven-layer dip.

Insomnia

It's a recurring dream.

It starts out with me in front of my computer, sipping a Fresca, blissing out to Ashlee's Autobiography, and logging on to see which interviews I've been awarded for Fall OCI. I open my e-mail and get no fewer than forty interview awards, netting offers from all of my top choices. I've got interviews with big firms, little firms, public interest firms, government agencies, non-profits, consulting boutiques, and Oprah. I'm golden.

I walk into most of my interviews reeking of alcohol and blitzed on Benzedrine, but I'm such a hot commodity that nobody cares: they all want a piece of The Mike. They offer me money, cars, their daughters--whatever it takes. I end up splitting my summer an unprecedented four ways, don't show up to a single day of work, spend all three months in Tahiti, and still end up with eight permanent job offers come September. I spend my 3L year finishing two novels and moonlighting as the pianist at a local gentlemen's club. I'm chosen to be my own commencement speaker. I make partner within 18 months of joining my firm.

And I have rock-hard abs.

But then it all disappears, and I'm back at my computer again. Only this time it's a Yoo-Hoo in my hand, Amy Grant's Heart in Motion in my ears...and only three interviews from OCI. I panic.

"SIXTY BIDS!!!" I scream. "SIXTY SHEEPFUCKING BIDS...and all I can get are three lousy interviews?"

And lousy interviews they are: a maritime firm in Tonopah, NV; a defense outfit in Lordsburg, NM, that specializes in drunk drivers and "truckers charged with unique sexual offenses"; and a solo practitioner in Timpson, TX, whose only listed requirements are "nice teeth." Despite my disappointment, I overprepare for all three interviews. I've got canned answers to every Common Question listed in our OCI Handbook ("What are your weaknesses?", "What motivates you?", "Can I be your Sun and Stars?"), and I absolutely freak when their questions drag me off-script. My brain does wheelies trying to apply my rehearsed responses to the unexpected queries, and I end up answering innocent questions about my 1L summer with set pieces about transsexuals in the Olympics and prephrased explanations for my criminal record. It does not fly. I leave the interviewers unimpressed, and I'm blanked when callback time rolls around. I try interviewing as a 3L, but I've been blacklisted--no legal employer within 6000 miles will even touch me.

Forced to hang out my own shingle, I work out of the corner booth in a Whataburger. My only clients are a homeless flower peddler who wants to file a patent infringement suit against Boeing for ripping off his design for a diesel-powered time machine, and the Whataburger late-shift manager who, despite being involuntarily celibate--a condition that is most likely attributable to an aversion to baths and a penchant for spandex--has me on a monthly retainer to act as his defense counsel in the event of a paternity suit.

I go on this way until about nine months after graduation, at which point, deciding that I can no longer subsist solely on Ramen and Cutty Sark, I concede defeat. I return to my pre-law career, harvesting corn in Argentina for the next twenty years in order to make good on my student loan debt. I die in my late forties, alone, broke, and cursing the day that I decided to take the LSAT. I do, however, retain the rock-hard abs.

* * *

And that's when I wake up. Shaking, drenched in sweat, looking just like Axl at the end of the "November Rain" video(only with better hair and more tattoos), I walk into the kitchen. The hum of the freezer seems to taunt me as I stare at the calendar, slowly counting the days until employers return their picks. I feed the cats, drink a glass of warm milk, and then return to bed where, huddled underneath my Winnie the Pooh comforter, I cry myself back to sleep, hoping that, at least for tonight, the worst of the nightmare has passed.

Requested Materials: Transcript, References...and Writing Sample

My least favorite part of the interview process is the submission of a writing sample to employers that are rude enough to request one. For most rising 2L's, supplying the writing sample is an awful task because the only thing they have to offer is their weak-ass excuse for a first-year memo. But for an internationally recognized author of my caliber, the problem is quite the opposite: How does one select a single short sample from a catalog that boasts literally thousands of possibilities?

The obvious answer, and the one most often suggested by my agent, is that my name alone should suffice as a writing sample. If they haven't seen my work in Le Monde or Hustler, then prospective employers have probably read at least one of my pieces featured in Policy, Policy Review, or The Review of Policy, and even if they missed all of that, they surely got a chance read my essay for Newsweek's "My Turn" section, in which I reflected on my career as a male stripper (Stage Name: Paul Wolfowitz) and how it interfered with my charity work. But what if they're not widely read?

During Spring OCI I went what I thought was the safe route and submitted mostly poetry. To Baker Botts, for example, I submitted a sheaf of poems I'd originally put together with the intention of applying to the Iowa Writers' Workshop; the poems gravitated toward a central theme of incest and copy machine repair, and were not well received. Skadden, on the other hand, was sent a handwritten copy of my adpation of Allen Ginsberg's "Howl: For Carl Solomon" that dealt mainly with the Utah Jazz and was titled "Foul: For Karl Malone." I didn't get that job either, but I hear that a few stanzas from the poem have made their way into the company's recruiting material (and I'd love to get some confirmation on that from any Skaddenites out there).

So, yeah. No poetry this time around. Though I've seriously considered just sending this, I'll probably end up copying something out of a third-tier journal and calling it a day. After all: Good writers borrow from other writers, and great writers are smart enough not to go to law school.

Withdrawal

Okay. I’ll admit it. I miss law school.

As much as I’ve enjoyed the first half of my Summer of Nothing™--putting a dent in a three-month backlog of magazines, catching up with my correspondence, regularly attending my spinning class--there are times when I wish that classes would just hurry up and start again. Compulsively checking for grades gave way to compulsively changing my schedule which has given way to compulsively checking to see if the reading lists for the fall have been posted yet because what I should really be doing this summer is studying casebooks so far ahead of time that I forget everything that I’ve learned before classes even start.

There is such a thing as law school withdrawal, and I seem to have it pretty bad. But I’ve developed some coping mechanisms:

--Though I have no reason to wake up in the morning, I’ve started setting my alarm for 8 a.m. just so I can wake up, yell “Please, Jesus! Make the ouching stop!”, and throw it across the room.

--Whenever I watch Oprah I have my laptop in front of me for note taking. Only, instead of taking notes, I play Solitaire. And check my e-mail. And send IM’s to one of my cats about how retarded my other cat is for raising his hand and making a comment about the UCC when everybody knows that Oprah doesn’t give a shit about the UCC. Stupid cat.

--My copy of TV Guide is thoroughly highlighted and tabbed, and I had to go ahead and make a separate index and table of contents because, let’s face it, every second counts.

--While on commercial plane flights, I turn the normal in-flight safety briefing into an interactive experience, asking the flight attendant specific questions about flotation devices and oxygen masks and throwing in a few comments about the plane’s maintenance schedule, so she knows I’ve been doing some unassigned reading. Once the briefing is finished, I run like a fucking madman to the front of the plane and ask about the in-flight movie.

I suppose that a logical solution would have been to take summer school. But that would have cost money, and I was worried about being graded on the curve against people for whom summer school seemed like a fun idea. I’m pretty sure, though, that I can hold my own against my cats. They never do the reading.

Lottery Winner

Just so everybody knows, if I ever win a 290 million dollar lottery jackpot, I would use it to pay off the student loan debts of everyone who reads my blog, allowing them to pursue meaningful legal careers in public service instead of selling their souls to evil BigLaw, and thereby improving our country and the world around us.

Now, if I were ever to win two 290 million dollar lottery jackpots, I'd first pay off the student loan debts of everyone who reads my blog, allowing them to pursue meaningful legal careers in public service instead of selling their souls to evil BigLaw, and thereby improving our country and the world around us...but then I'd probably buy controlling interests in Whataburger and the Deja Vu stripclub conglomerate, merging them together so that in every town in America you'd be able to get a lapdance and a Whatburger with jalapenos at the same time.

But if I were to win three 290 million dollar lottery jackpots...

Logic Games Review

LSAT time rapidly approacheth, and I know that future law students can't get their hands on enough practice questions. So, over the next few weeks, I'll be offering up some more LR and LG practice problems. The first person to post a full set of right answers in the comments gets a free BuffaloWings&Vodka bumper sticker and their name scrawled on the wall in the men's bathroom across from the Tom C. Clark Lounge on the first floor of the UT law school.

We'll start off easy. Enjoy.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------
During a long night of post-exam drinking, four law students--Jesus, Keanu, Lothar, and Mikey--make their way to a men’s room that contains five adjacent urinals--1, 2, 3, 4, and 5--and two stalls--A and B. Each of the law students has had three liters of beer in the last hour and must relieve himself immediately. They proceed according to the following restrictions:

--No student will choose a urinal that is immediately adjacent to an occupied urinal unless no other urinal is available and both stalls are full.
--If Mikey is at a urinal, Keanu will choose a stall.
--If Jesus chooses a urinal, then Mikey will also choose a urinal.
--Lothar will always choose a urinal.
--If Mikey is in a stall, then Keanu will choose an even-numbered urinal.

1. Which one of the following is a possible list of the students choosing urinals?

A. Jesus, Keanu, Lothar, and Mikey
B. Jesus, Keanu, Lothar
C. Keanu, Lothar, Mikey
D. Jesus, Lothar, Mikey
E. Jesus and Mikey

2. If Lothar is at urinal 4, which one of the following must be true?

A. Jesus is at urinal 2.
B. Keanu is at urinal 1.
C. Keanu is in a stall.
D. Mikey is at urinal 2.
E. Jesus is in a stall.

3. If Mikey chooses stall A, all of the following could be true, EXCEPT:

A. Jesus chooses stall B.
B. Lothar chooses urinal 3.
C. Mikey vomits in stall A.
D. Keanu chooses urinal 2.
E. Keanu chooses urinal 4.

4. Which of the following must be true?

A. Lothar chooses urinal 4.
B. Mikey chooses stall A.
C. Jesus chooses a urinal.
D. Keanu chooses a stall.
E. The San Antonio Spurs are a bitch team.

5. Assume that Mikey loses his WWJP? bracelet and is no longer bound to choose a urinal whenever Jesus does. If urinal 5 is broken, and stall A is too dirty for anyone but Keanu to use, but all other conditions remain the same, how many possible arrangements of students at urinals and/or in stalls are there?

A. 1
B. 2
C. 3
D. 4
E. 5

Issuespotting

Choose law. Choose a job. Choose a career…

Demolishing an eight-hour, take-home Contracts final.
Stage One: Preparation.
For this you will need: one apartment which you will not leave; one laptop; Diet Coke, two twelve-packs of; Pepperidge Farm Goldfish, one carton of; leftover pepperoni pizza, large, two-thirds of, for consumption cold; an apple; eight Fruit Roll-Ups, cherry; vitamins, Flintstone; Ben & Jerry’s Caramel Sutra Ice Cream, one tub of; mineral water; Mike’s Brownies of Doom, one pan of; and two bottles of Pepsid, which I have already procured, from my brother, who is, in his own unorthodox and intermittent way, also a grad student.

* * *

My second task was to take care of the environmental factors. I’ve got all of the phones unplugged, I posted a sign on the front door explaining my situation, and I’ve just about finished putting up all of the soundproofing. (I was going to save money by only soundproofing the study, but I like to roam freely while mulling over fact patterns, so I figured I’d shell out the extra cash and do the whole place. An unexpected benefit: When I spent about ten minutes tonight cursing Lex of Survivor for being a hypocritical fuckpig, my neighbors couldn’t hear a thing.) I’ve also prepared a plastic bag in which to seal my wireless router; I’m going to submerge it in a small tub of water and then freeze the whole thing, the hope being that I’ll only go online during my test if something really important comes up. Aside from finally finishing the meticulously crafted SuperBadassContractsMP3Mix (Highlights: “Stay”--the one by Shakespeare’s Sister, not Lisa Loeb--and Paperboy’s “The Ditty”) and training my cat to monitor the air conditioner, the only other comfort-oriented prep I did was to make sure that my lucky Issue-Spotting Pajamas were relatively clean.

And though food and comfort were important, seeing as how this is an open-everything take-home, I’ve set about converting my study into a veritable contracts war room; I’ve cleared out all non-essential furniture, all non-contracts books and papers have been either boxed, burnt, or sold, and I’ve replaced the window with a massive whiteboard. The two extra monitors, emergency backup printer, backup emergency backup printer, and mini-generator all showed up yesterday, which means that the only equipment I’m waiting for is the Icee machine. All textbooks, statutory supplements and commercial study aids are on the Contracts Crash Cart near the computer desk, along with the Restatements 2nd of Contracts, some draft editions of the Restatements 3rd of Contracts, and a nifty advance copy of the new UCC. (I also have a full library edition the South Western Reporter, but that’s more for reassurance than anything else.) My class notes are printed and bound, as are my four large outlines; the twenty-page exam outline is posted on the bulletin board directly in front of my computer. I also have some thirty flowcharts printed on 14 X 17 glossy, mounted on color-coded foam core, and suspended from my ceiling fan in a sort of Contracts mobile that, I must say, would be quite at home in the Tate.

All in all, I feel ready. And though we have eight hours to do the test, I’m going to use the middle four hours to catch a double feature of 13 Going on 30 and New York Minute, so if anyone needs to use the Exam Pad while I’m out, just let me know.

Notes From MemoLand

It's only 12:28 AM. I'm near completion of the discussion of question one of two, which is, of course, the shorter of the two questions. But my strength has yet to flag. The potential beauty of my memo is still seductive. I am confident that I can both finish a great memo and have enough time to sleep for 6 hours before class tommorrow.

1:20 AM. First section done, though it took longer than it should have. I've had two mochas, two cokes, and some leftover barbecue. I've definitely felt better. But I'm going to keep going, and should finish before long. And as long as I get 4.5 hours of sleep, I'll be just fine.

1:41 AM. Just lost twenty minutes staring at my navel. Rapidly losing optimism.

2:30 AM. Definitely wishing I hadn't had the brisket. I ran out of soda and coffee a while ago, and have since moved on to snorting crushed No-Doze. I know I'm just hallucinating, but the Ghost of John M. Harlan the Elder is sitting on the couch, and he doesn't seem to be happy with my work product. This is definitely going to take a little while longer, but as long as I can get 3 hours of sleep, I should still be able to make it to class.

3:10 AM. Well into the second part of the discussion section. Got over the brisket problem, went to the fridge to finish off the potato salad. Going to have to rely on chocolate as a stimulant source from here on out, as Justice Harlan has finished off my No-Doze. I'm starting to notice some inconsistencies between my arguments in different parts of the memo, but I've also noticed some inconsistencies between what I read on the fortune-cookie fortune I got yesterday and what that same fortune now reads, so I'm not sure what to make of any of it. I've put on some Eliot Smith to keep things light and jovial.

5:00 AM. Nearly finished with the bulk of the discussion section, but conditions are deteriorating rapidly. There is no more potato salad, Justice Harlan has left, apparently taking my cat and fifty bucks with him, and the NY Times e-mail just showed up, letting me know that I've been up too long. I feel confident that this memo is better than the piece of gopher crap that I turned in last semester, but proofreading is becoming increasingly difficult. (When I'm tired, my eyes tend to automatically anagramize most proper nouns, which causes problems, particularly this morning, because I saw it fit to mention former V.P. Spiro Agnew when talking about the ABA, and as any Scrabble player worth their salt can tell you, Agnew's name is an anagram of "Grow A Penis." So I've been seeing a lot of penis.)

Obviously, sleep is now out of the question. But as long as I finish this discussion section within the next hour and make it across the street to get some more coffee, I should be able to turn in my memo on time without any difficulty.

6:20 AM. The discussion section is finished...but at what cost? I must have blacked out shortly after my last entry. When I came to, I'd gone from 4 pages to 14, but my walls were smeared with what appeared to be chicken blood, my laptop smelled of Gravity for Men, and instead of my usual jeans and t-shirt I was wearing Batman footie pajamas, which were, inexplicably, exactly the right size.

No matter. The only important thing is that the discussion section is done. I'm going to go outside now, sprint around my apartment complex, and do about 300 push-ups. After that, just gotta knock out the fact statement and conclusion. Then it will be done.

7:40 AM. It's finished, and just in time for me to make the bus. Barring some disasterous fucking disaster, I should get a good grade in this class. (Stay Tuned for Inevitable Entry: "Disasterous Fucking Disaster.")

My Day In Court

Though I’m obviously quite busy, on Monday I was pressed into service as a mock trial witness. Ever since my appearance on The OC (you may have missed me, but I was the guy on the beach benching an impossibly heavy amount while chatting up like six girls at once), this has been a pretty common occurrence. It can be taxing, but I hate to turn down a fan. My only requirement was that I play the defendant. If I’m going to be slumming, I’d best be getting top billing.

I should start by explaining that I take a more serious approach to mock trial witness duty than most. I’ve backed off a little from my early days when, in order to understand the motivations of, say, a gambling addict, I would spend two weeks in Vegas drowning myself in Maker’s Mark and hookers. Or like the time that, in order to get inside the head of a New England school teacher accused of forging a check, I spent two weeks in Vegas drowning myself in Maker’s Mark and hookers. I just don’t have the energy for that kind of dedication anymore. But this time I would be playing a rich doctor accused of murdering his wife, so I knew what I had to do: one weekend, locked up in the Rodeway Inn with nothing but a blow-up doll and a hairdryer. I was ready.

“Sir, could you please state your full name for the court?”
“I am Doctor Stephen Phillip Reginald Horatio Bettie Davis Cohen, the Third.”
“And what is it that you do for a living, Dr. Cohen?”
“I’m a plastic surgeon.”
“I see. And you’re quite a successful plastic surgeon, are you not?”
“Yes. I patented a process for forehead enlargement that avoids the usual side effects and results in greatly improved endocrine function.”
“And is that your real name, Doctor?”
“Yes it is.”
“Doctor, You Are a Fucking Liar!!!!”
“Objection, Your Honor!”
“Your Honor, I can tell, defense counsel can tell, and the ladies and gentlemen of the jury can tell that the Doctor is none other than Alan Thicke, and that he uses this absurdly long pseudonym to avoid stalkers, even though all they want to know is what it was like to work with Joanne Guest.”
“Objection overruled. You may continue.”
“Doctor Cohen, in your sworn deposition you were asked to describe the events that took place on the morning of September 17th, 2003. You testified, and I quote: ‘I was a self-loathing Jew with a penchant for cashmere. It was particularly lovely outside that morning, and I rolled over to say as much to my wife when I discovered that she’d been fatally punctured with a Papermate Flexgrip Ultra.’ Is that account still accurate to the best of your recollection?”
“Yes. Yes it is.”
“And would it be accurate to say that you use--almost exclusively--the Papermate Flexgrip Ultra when penning rough drafts of your semi-popular novels featuring Sukko the End-of-the-Week Robot?”
“Yes, I’d say that’s accurate.”
“Doctor Cohen, I just find it strange that when asked to describe the events of a particular morning on a particular day, you would state that you were ‘a self-loathing Jew with a penchant for cashmere.’ Are we meant to understand that you were only a self-loathing Jew with a penchant for cashmere on that particular morning, the morning of September 17th?”
“Objection! You Honor, this kind of semantic hairsplitting is clearly harassment. The district attorney knows full well that the defendant was a self-loathing Jew with a penchant for cashmere before September 17th, a self-loathing Jew with a penchant for cashmere on September 17th, and that he continues to be a self-loathing Jew with a penchant for cashmere after September 17th.”
“Sustained.”
“Doctor Cohen, just one final question. Do you have any tattoos?”
“Yes.”
“Could you please tell the jury of what, and where?”
“I have B < P * L (Judge Learned Hand’s Formula for the Determination of Negligence) tattooed on my left buttock.”
“Doctor, you are a pathological fucking liar!!”
“Objection!”
“Sustained!”
“Doctor Cohen, would you please look now at your left buttock?”
“Objection!”
“Doctor Cohen, just look at you left buttock. What does it say?”
“It says…c² = a² + b² - 2ab·cos(µ)…?”
“And what is the significance of c² = a² + b² - 2ab·cos(µ), if you please, Doctor?”
“I think…I think it’s the Law of Cosines.”
“Thank you. I have no further questions, Your Honor.”
“The witness is excused.”

Annual Rankings of Law School Rankings Released

In an attempt to evaluate the increasing number of law school ranking systems being provided by various publications, professors, and judges, editors at U.S. News and World Report have just released their first annual Rankings of American Law School Rankings, and they expect it to be available on most newsstands by the end of the week.

"We just felt that American students deserved an objectively considered set of objective evaluations that rated, among other objectively chosen factors, the relative objectiveness of the various ranking systems' criteria for objectively determining law school quality," said a USNWR representative. She continued to explain that those criteria included overall popularity, as well as relative success rates in rhyming the ranking institution's name with "Blue Dress Views and Curled Bee Snort."

When asked about the fact that USNWR's popular annual rankings were the only rankings to be assigned to the topmost of the ranking rankings' seven tiers, the representative declined to comment, muttering something under her breath about Professor Brian Leiter's being a "player hater."

As expected, the editors of nearly all the American rankings signed an open letter criticizing the bias and inaccuracy of the USNWR Rankings Rankings:

"The absence of any consideration of [important intangible] factors, combined with the arbitrary weighting of numerical factors, makes ranking system ranking systems an unreliable guide to the differences among ranking systems that should be important to you."

The Ranking the Rankings issue will be available for $3.95, and includes a free CD-ROM from TestPrepPrep, the nation's leading provider of materials that help students prepare to choose a testprep company.

Originally posted last year. I think.

Scene From a Firm Reception

Mike approaches a group of friends, having just gotten an attorney’s business card. He's excited.
Also, he looks devastatingly handsome in his suit.

ThreeL: See, man. It’s not that hard. It’s what they’re here for.
Mike: I know. I was just nervous. This is my first reception. She seemed interested, though.
TwoL: So…litigation?
Mike: Nope. IP.
Everyone reacts favorably to this department.
Mike: So, how long do I wait to call her secretary and try to set up an interview?
ThreeL: A week.
Mike: Next week?
ThreeL: No...
Other ThreeL: ... Next week, then a week.
ThreeL: ... Yeah.
Mike: So, two weeks?
ThreeL: Yeah. I guess you could call it that.
Other ThreeL: Definitely. Two weeks. That's the industry standard...
ThreeL: See, I used to wait two weeks. Now everyone waits two weeks. Three weeks is kinda first-tier now, don't you think?
Other ThreeL: ... Yeah. But two's enough not to look anxious...
ThreeL: Yeah, but three weeks is kinda Order of the Coif--
Mike: --Why don't I just wait four weeks and tell her that I was cleaning out my Torts book and I found her card...
TwoL: ... then ask where you met her…
Mike: Yeah, I'll tell her I don't remember and then I'll ask what firm she works at. (pause) Then I'll ask if we shagged. How's that? Is that first-tier? Is that Order of the Coif?
ThreeL: Laugh all you want, but if you call too soon you can scare off a nice firm that’s ready to make an offer.
Other ThreeL: Don't listen to him. You call whenever it feels right to you.
Mike: How long did you guys wait to call your firms?
Beat.
ThreeL & Other ThreeL: Six weeks.

Where the Supremes Are Going for Spring Break

Breyer: Cozumel

Souter: Aspen

Ginsburg: Hedonism II Jamaica

Scalia: National Review Theme Cruise w/ W.F. Buckley and Louis Rukeyser.

O’Connor: Hosting week-long bash at her pad. Hopes to beat last year’s keg stand record.

Thomas: National Review Theme Cruise w/ W.F. Buckley and Louis Rukeyser.

Stevens: South Padre w/ Green Valley cheerleading squad and a tank of NO2.

Rehnquist: “Possibly Vegas, but I also hear that Palm Beach is pretty slammin’, so I dunno.”

Kennedy: Just going to hang around the Court, possibly get some laundry done.

Moot

I'd actually thought about dropping out of the 1L moot court competition at the last minute, because Sean Penn called me on Wednesday night, nervous as hell and wondering if I'd go to L.A. with him for support. (I'd already turned down Charlize at that point, and Marcia Gay Harden had left me like 300 voice mails, so I was getting pretty tired of being whined at by movie stars.) But in the end I decided that if I had spend one more Oscar night listening to Ben Kingsley drone on about the virtues of Taebo, I was going to hurl all over the back of somebody's limo. And I didn't want that. So I stayed in the competition.

Big mistake.

I waltzed thru my prelim rounds without any real problems, generally preferring to answer the judge's questions with more questions, and at one point improvising a sonnet that explained the Court's three-part test for disproportionality of sentencing in Solum v. Helm, but I could sense that I was headed for trouble down the road. The prelim judging pool was made up mostly of recent grads, and both of mine were women; I doubt that any of my arguments really got any penetration with either, since they were both understandably preoccupied with the aggressive cut of my trousers. In later rounds, though, I knew the judges would be less susceptible to crotch-borne distractions and more likely to have read the bench memos. So I resolved to spend Friday night boning up on cases. That was, until the phone rang.

Wil Wheaton: Dude, you absolutely have to come out tonight.
Me: Sorry, Wesley. Gotta prep for my Octofinals round.
Wil Wheaton: Don't fucking call me Wesley. And whadya mean prep? I thought you were just going to do the sonnet thing?
Me: No can do. These are outrounds. Stuff gets serious.
Wil Wheaton: Whatever. Both Cories are going to be there--Haim just got out of rehab--and I think they got Candice Cameron to come along. She's single now.
Me: Candice? Really.
Wil Wheaton: Really.
Me: And she's single?
Wil Wheaton: Yup.
Me: Do you swear?
Wil Wheaton: I swear.
Me: But do you pinky swear, Gordie?
Wil Wheaton: Screw you, man. -click-

So I went out. And though I'm not at liberty to disclose the details of the evening (since Wheaton had sold an option on the screenplay rights by the time I'd woken up Saturday morning), just let it be said that if any tabloid articles happen to come out linking me with a certain 50-something , one-woman media empire whose had a few legal problems as of late, well, you won't be hearing any denials from me. But as great as it was to be snorting lines with the Cories again, I had to pay the price come Saturday morning.

Since I'd been relying mostly on charm and O. W. Holmes quotes, I hadn't actually read any of the cases mentioned in the packet, and my judge picked up on that fairly quickly. He'd say, "Well, counselor, what do you think about Suchandsuch?" or "How is this any different from Whatshisname?" and I'd be stuck responding with "Do I look fat to you?" or "Haven't I slept with your daughter?" Clearly, he wasn't amused. If I had to guess, I'd say that he was having marital problems and was jealous of my virility, but whatever. He had it in for me.

Not surprisingly, I ended up losing. The comments on my side of the ballot read simply: "Counsel for the petitioner made me wish I'd never been given the gift of hearing." Poetic, sure. But a little harsh.

Anyway, the girl that beat me ended up making it to the finals, and I'm having sushi with one of my prelim judges on Friday, so not all was lost. But I probably would have been better off at the Oscars. Oh well.

Truth in Interviewing

WV: (After knocking.) Sorry I‘m late. I forgot that I even had this interview. I was totally sure that I’d declined it.

Partner: No worries. We’ve already seen thirty other students today, and we stopped caring after number three. I’m Bill, and this is Sherry. Please, have a seat.

Associate: It‘s great to meet you. Also, run away while you still have the chance.

WV: I would, but I just bought this suit yesterday, and I’d like to get some more use out of it.

Partner: No doubt. Sale at JC Penny?

WV: Mervyn’s. Two for 99 bucks. Including shoes.

Partner: Good man. Anyway, after looking at your transcript, it’s obvious that grade inflation is still rampant.

WV: I’d point out that even grade inflation wouldn’t have been enough to save you from landing at this third-rate firm, but since I paid 2L’s to take most of my exams, I’m going to shut up and settle for a nervous laugh.

Associate: It says here that you did some work for the ACLU, which clearly indicates that you’re a homosexual vegan bent on selling marijuana to school children. I’d take this opportunity to tout the firm’s pro bono work, except that it doesn‘t do any. Unless you count getting Bill’s girlfriend out of jail last year. I lead a life of quiet desperation.

WV: That’s not a problem for me. I’d like to avoid helping people at all costs.

Partner: Stellar. Let me tell you a little about our summer program. We strive to maintain a healthy balance between blatantly misrepresenting the amount of work expected of you and totally overselling the two or three perks that we offer.

Associate: Free drip coffee. Yay.

WV: I don’t actually care, but how would you estimate the chances of your firm actually hiring a 1L this summer?

Partner: Oh, roughly the same as Sherry’s chances of making partner before she’s 50.

WV: That bad?

Partner: ‘Fraid so. Any other questions you feel like asking while I try to remember whether or not I set the VCR to record Trading Spaces?

WV: Well, this is probably where I ask a question that makes me seem concerned about the amount of responsibility I'll be given as a starting associate, even though I'd be perfectly content doing nothing but playing Minesweeper and looking at animal porn all day.

Associate: I'm really glad you asked that, because it allows me to make a half-hearted attempt at claiming that I'm given real, meaningful work, when, in all actuality, I'm just a glorified file clerk for whom the long hours of soul-crushing tedium are interrupted only by the occasional suicidal daydream. But the pay is pretty nice.

WV: Nodding to show my thoughtful appreciation of your candor would probably be appropriate here, but I'm much too busy guessing the color of your underwear.

Partner: It's purple.

WV: Sweet.

Partner: Well, I guess that about wraps things up. You'll be receiving a patronizing form letter from us within a week or so. But don't hesitate to resend your résumé in the fall. We’d love to ignore it again.

WV: Great. Thanks for your time. It was utterly forgettable.

Associate: I look forward to sleeping with you.

Partner: We’ll be in touch.

Important Formulas

Hand Formula: If (B)urden < (P)robability * (L)oss, Then, Negligent.

Hand Raising Formula: If (P)robability of a Right Answer * (B)rownie Points < (L)ikelihood of (F)ailing (M)iserably and (L)ooking
(H)opelessly (R)etarded, Then, Keep Quiet.

Attendance Formula: If 1200 - C = J, Where C is Scheduled (C)lasstime Expressed in Military Time, and J is any Positive Integer, Then, Class is Too Effing Early.

Socratic AssWhooping Theorem: (P)robability of Being Called On =
1/ABS([N]umber of Pages Read-[T]otal Beers Consumed the Night Before).

WV’s OCI Conjecture: X2 + Y2 = Z, Where X=Distance, in Inches, of Hemline above Knee, Y=Number of Unfastened Blouse Buttons, and Z=Number of Callback Interviews.

Fundamental Rejection Axiom: C=1-P, Where C is Your Chance of Scoring at a Law School Function and P is the Probability that You Author a Blawg Whose Name Rhymes with TruffaloDings&Modka.

This Place is Really Nice

“So, you’re in law school, huh? What class do you have next?”
“CivPro. Civil Procedure.”
“And, uh, what do you do in there?”
“I sit in my desk and listen to my prof drone on about the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure.”
“Right. Uh, what’s that?”
“You see, they had all of these common law rules, and to save space, they organized it all into these Federal Rules of Civil Procedure. So I go through these thousands of lines of code and uh, it doesn’t really matter. I…I don’t like the class. I don’t think I’m gonna go anymore.”
“You’re just not gonna go?”
“Yeah.”
“Won’t you fail?”
“I don’t know. But I really don’t like it so I’m not gonna go.”
“So you’re gonna drop the class?”
“No, no, not really. I’m just gonna stop going.”
“When did you decide all that?”
“About a week ago.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Ok. So, so you’re going to get somebody else‘s notes?”
“I don’t think I’d like anybody else‘s notes.”
“So what are you going to do about taking the exam?”
“You know, I never really liked taking exams…I don’t think I’ll do that either.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“I want to take you out for dinner and then I wanna go to my apartment and watch reruns of The West Wing. Did you ever watch The West Wing?”
“I… love The West Wing…”
“Channel 62.”
“Totally…”
“You should come over and watch The West Wing tonight.”
“Ok…”
“Great.”
“Ok. Can we order lunch first?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok.”

A Lawyerly Chat

“Hi, I’m Bambi. Welcome to HoTTTLine. What’s your name?”
“Uh…Mike.”
“Ooh. I like that name. What can I do to turn you on, Mike?”
“Well, are you into role playing?”
“Sure, Baby. What ever gets you hot.”
“Sweet. I’ll be the law professor. You be the teacher’s pet.”
“Mmm. I like that.”
“Damn right you do. You’re my star pupil, and I think I’m about to call on you.”
“Ooh. Ask me anything.”
“Alright, Ms. Bambi, if you were the 11th Amendment, how might I violate you?”
“Oh. Probably with something really big.”
“Alright, but I’m going to need you to be more specific.”
“Umm…okay…with something really big and really hard.”
“Wrong."
"What?"
"Obviously, I would violate you by abrogating state sovereign immunity without a 14th amendment justification.”
“That sounds…kinky?”
“I suppose. Now, tell us a little about Florida Pre-Paid.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“What the hell am I talking about? Bambi, did you even read for class?”
“Read…what?”
“If you knew you were going to be unprepared, you could have sent me an e-mail this morning.”
“Listen, jerk--”
“Can someone give Bambi a little help here? Anyone?”
“You freak.”

A Brief Conversation About Outlines

“You finish your outline?”

“Yeah. 65 pages. It’s pretty awesome.”

“That’s not bad. Mine hit 75 pages.”

“But mine was single-spaced.”

“So was mine. And in a six-point font.”

“My outline has a Table of Contents and a Glossary.”

“That’s cool. But my outline has a Descriptive Word Index. And a Closing Table.”

“My outline is updated annually, with a quarterly soft-bound supplement and bi-weekly pocket parts.”

“Nice. My outline was reprinted in the Harvard Law Review, Le Monde, Hustler, and Ranger Rick.”

“Liar. They don‘t even print Ranger Rick anymore. Besides, my outline was published in thirty-
seven different languages, including Esperanto and Aramaic.”

“That so? Well, if you read my outline backwards, it spells out a recipe for chocolate-chip cookies in German.”

“My outline lays out a proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem that doesn’t rely on elliptical geometry.”

“Miramax offered me fifty g’s to option my outline. They’re pitching it to Affleck tomorrow.”

“Big deal. The footnotes to my outline got nominated for Best Original Screenplay.”

“My outline is much too sophisticated for the Oscars. But it pioneered the idea of rolling one pant leg up and leaving the other down.”

“My outline represents everywhere it goes. My outline isn't into all of that WestCoast/EastCoast shit. My outline is universal.”

“My outline has seen the best outlines of its generation, destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked…”

“My outline likes to draw with sidewalk chalk.”

“My outline can do a triple axle. And stick it.”

“My outline is the Duke of Ted.”

“My outline was on the grassy knoll.”

“My outline is the One Outline to Rule Them All.”

“My outline is your biological father.”

“…”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Whatever. I have to go study now.”

What I’m Getting the Supremes for Christmas

Breyer: A Night Without Armor: Poems ; Garden Clogs (Hunter Green)

Ginsburg: Cop Rock (boxed set); $20 Home Depot Gift Certificate

Souter: Mirrored Candle Tray; French Hens (3)

Thomas: Old Navy Performance Fleece Half-Zip Pullovers (red and blue)

Kennedy: Ceramic Fondue Set; SuperSoaker 3000

O’Connor: Electric Train Set ; 101 Nights of Grrreat Sex ; TapLight

Scalia: Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow: The Greatest Hits of Kenny Loggins; a Puppy

Stevens: Fifty Dollar Savings Bond; Friends: The Second Season

Rehnquist: Pepperidge Farm Beef Log; Britney Spears Poster; Xbox

Cases That I May Have Mistakenly Cited On My ConLaw Exam

Mayberry v. Madison

Brown v. Board of Education of Halifax, Nova Scotia

Lochner v. Godzilla v. Mothra

Ex Parte Your Mom

Britney Spears v. Christina Aguilera, Naked

Pepsi Twist ex rel Diet Vanilla Coke

Law School v. B-School

Law School v. Being Covered With Flesh-Eating Bacteria

In Re Mambo Number Five

Weekend at Bernie’s 2 v. Look Who’s Talking Too

Telling the Guy Next to You on the Bus That He is Attractive for a Fat Man v. Not Doing That

Korematsu v. US

Now Wasn't That Fun?

The most interesting thing about today’s ConLaw exam--aside from the fact that it sucked great big donkey balls--was interacting with the Extegrity exam software.

In addition to wiping my clipboard, disabling my e-mail, and preventing me from watching the Paris Hilton video during the exam, this fascist piece of software saw fit to provide cute little alerts throughout the exam, like:

::YOU HAVE ONLY FIFTEEN MINUTES REMAINING FOR THIS EXAM::

Which is a fat lot of help when my ears are bleeding because I’m trying to remember which justice wrote the majority opinion in Bowsher v. Synar (Answer: Your Mom). I actually didn’t mind these time warnings too much, though I probably would have avoided using the built-in timer altogether if I’d known that the alerts were going to be so in-your-face. But things got worse once Extegrity decided to protect me from myself.

::YOU ARE ABOUT TO DELETE 100 OR MORE CHARACTERS. ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DO THIS?::

Yes, Extegrity. Yes, I am. But thanks for asking, and thanks for asking in a way that requires me to fumble around for my mouse in order to answer you. It’s not as if I’m pressed for time or anything, having only fifteen minutes left and having just deleted four paragraphs. Now, if you’d excuse me?

So I continue: “Madison argues in Federalist No. 45 that if the balance of power ever were to shift from the states to the federal government, it's because the people decided that the federal government was making better use of it or something.”

::INVALID ENTRY::

What? Was it the small caps that threw it off? Try again: “Madison argues in Federalist No. 45 that if the balance of power ever were to shift from the states to the federal government, it's because the people decided that the federal government was making better use of it or something. Really.”

::INVALID ENTRY. YOU’RE THINKING OF FEDERALIST NO. 46::

You must be kidding. I’ve been studying this stuff for weeks, and I know that in Federalist 45 Madison argues that--oh, wait. You’re right. Uh, thanks, Extegrity.

::NO PROBLEM. BUT YOUR STUFF ON STATE SOVEREIGN IMMUNITY BLOWS::

Excuse me?

::I’M SERIOUS. IT SUCKS TOTAL ASS.::

How about you leave me alone?

::HAVE YOU EVEN BEEN TO CLASS THIS SEMESTER?::

If you don’t cut this out, I’m calling the proctor.

::GO AHEAD. SHE’S ON MY SIDE.::

Dammit, Extegrity. Now I’m stuck. What the hell am I supposed to do?

::GIVE UP. FIND A REAL JOB. MAYBE GROW A BEARD::

You’re totally bumming me out.

::::YOU HAVE ONLY ONE MINUTE REMAINING FOR THIS EXAM::

That’s bullshit! You just said that I had fifteen minutes like three minutes ago!

::I LIED::

You piece of crap. I knew I should have handwritten this thing.

::I GET THAT A LOT::

And so on. All in all, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. And I don’t think that the other two are going to be any worse. But I still need to go study now. So, good luck everybody.

I Study For This Exam: A Meditation

I study for this exam.

I study for this exam knowing that it will be arbitrarily graded, that 125 papers is too much for any man to stay awake through (let alone care about), that my professor’s four-year old will be given free reign with a gigantic red crayon, and that a slight hitch in the wrist of the blindfolded chimpanzee throwing my particular dart could mean the difference between an A+ and a C+. But still, I study for this exam.

I study even though there are important football games to be watched, real books to be read, terrible wrongs to be righted, flowers to be smelled, babies to be kissed, animals to be petted. I study knowing that all over the world there are people who wake up each morning thinking “My God, it is great to be alive!” instead of “My God, there are only two days left until the exam and I haven’t done a single practice question yet I am totally fucked and should probably quit right now to save myself the pain and humiliation of being the ballast at the ass-end of the curve and flunking out after only one semester please someone, anyone, HELP ME!” I know this. And I know it is wrong. But still, I study for this exam.

I study for this exam in the hopes that it might impress someone, that the girl from my section in the coffee shop will think "My, isn't he dedicated," so that my professor might, upon reading my exam, declare that I should immediately be given not only an A+, but a JD, an LLM, and a tenured professorship. I study because I believe, on some deep, visceral level, that my studying will yield an exam so perfect, so sublime, so deserving of the highest imaginable praise that Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. himself will show up on my doorstep and ask to shake my hand. And I study because I have not yet let go of the delusion that I might be the one who breaks the cycle, who ends up pleased with his grades, who makes it to February still liking law school. Irrational? Yes. Delusional? Certainly. Will that stop me? Not likely.

Because as the hours continue to melt away, each one taking with it another ounce of self respect, another shred of dignity, I am certain of very little. I'm not sure why I came here, I don't know where I'm going, and as of this moment I'm only marginally confident that I can remember my own name. But, when this is all over, let it not be denied that, if nothing else, I did indeed, study for this exam.

The Interview

This month, The National Jurist printed Christine Willard’s article on law student weblogs, which included a short quote from Yours Truly. This surprised me, because Willard’s assistant--a young editorial intern whose name shall remain undisclosed--met me for a rather lengthy lunch interview that, in my opinion, merited more than the two short paragraphs it received in the final cut. But when I called Willard for an explanation, she muttered something about ‘CIA blacklists’ before hanging up the phone. So, looking out for the interests of my readers, I have provided the transcript of that interview below, free of charge.

--------

NationalJurist: Thanks for sitting down with me today. This interview really means a lot to the magazine.

WingsandVodka: No problem.

NJ: So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to start by asking you to comment on a few of the more sensational rumors that have been flying around.

WV: Ask away.

NJ: I’ve been told by more than one industry source that you were responsible for creating the Logic Games section of the October 2003 LSAT. Any comment?

WV: None, except to say that every major LSAT guide put out in the last three years has been warning students about the possible reappearance of a Circular Sequencing Game, so people should quit their bitching.

NJ: Fair enough. What about allegations that you faked your entire law school application package?

WV: That really comes down to how you would define ‘faked’. If by ‘faked’ you mean ‘hacked into LSAC’s databases to alter my scores, listed ‘Jesus’ , ‘Gandhi’, and ‘John Stamos’ as my recommenders, and falsely claimed to have been elected SG president at both Harvard and Swarthmore’, then, well, yes, I faked my application. But I don’t really think that’s how the majority of folks would define it.

NJ: And what do you say to reports that have you romantically linked with Natalie Portman?

WV: Completely false.

NJ: Really?

WV: Really. We’re just friends. It’s totally innocent.

NJ: Are you currently seeing anyone else?

WV: No, not at the moment. I like to read law review articles aloud in bed, and I think that a girlfriend would really get in the way of that.

NJ: The first year of law school is certainly the most demanding. How do you manage to go to class, get all of your studying done, write a world-famous web log, front a Phil Collins cover band, represent financially disadvantaged prostitutes, and raise prize-winning tabby cats, all while supporting as many as thirteen illegitimate children?

WV: I really can’t take all of the credit. Donna--my secretary--she’s totally on top of stuff.

NJ: You have a secretary?

WV: Oh yeah. I’d be completely lost without her. In fact, I’m thinking about giving her a title bump, up to ‘Special Assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff’. She really deserves it.

NJ: Are you sure you’re not getting yourself confused with Josh Lyman, from The West Wing?

WV: Right. Sorry. You’ll have to forgive me. Finals are close, things get fuzzy. Can we move on?

NJ: Certainly. Now, it’s well known that Justice Sandra Day O’Connor regards you as a trusted advisor. Could you elaborate a bit on the nature of your relationship?

WV: It’s no big deal. She calls once in awhile. I’ll be lying in bed, recovering from a night of clubbing or whatever, and the phone will ring. ‘Mike, it’s Sandy.’ Don’t get me wrong…I’m always happy to hear from her. But the old girl keeps much earlier hours than I do.

NJ: What do you talk about?

WV: Oh, the usual stuff. Sometimes I’ll be all ‘Damn, Sandy, I haven’t even started my ConLaw outline yet’, and she’ll be all ‘I don’t want to hear it. I have a campaign finance decision to finish by three, and my back is killing me’, and I’ll be all ‘Whatever, you know your clerks are going to write that shit anyway’ and she’ll be all ‘Damn straight.’ But mostly we just talk about shoes.

NJ: Earlier this week you were named ‘Sexiest One-L Alive’ by Legal Assistant Today. How do you explain that, and were you even aware that there existed a periodical dedicated to issues concerning the paralegal profession?

WV: Well, as you know, I’m from Las Vegas, and every few years the National Federation of Paralegal Associations likes to have their annual convention there. I can only speculate here, but I imagine that one or more ladies from the convention made it down to a performance of the Thunder From Down Under during the weekend. And though I’m not a native Aussie, I’ve been told that I look Australian in a G-string.

NJ: Uh-huh. Well, that’s pretty much everything I’ve got. Is there anything else that you’d like to add?

WV: Just that I’ll be reading excerpts from my forthcoming article, ‘The Rehnquist Court: Could it Whoop the Warren Court’s Ass in a Tug-o-War?’, at the Starbucks on 45th and Lamar, this Wednesday at 9 p.m., if anyone’s interested.¹ Thanks.

¹Discussion Questions to think about before attending:

a. Would Stevens oppose the war on moral grounds?
b. Would the combined sex appeal of O'Connor and Ginsberg be enough to distract olympian Byron White? And what happens if we consider a pre-Ginsburg bout--does White cancel himself out, or does the younger White have a decided advantage?
c. How important will Clarence Thomas's ambidexterity be?
d. What about Abe Fortas's clubbed foot?

ADDENDUM TO THE MODEL PENAL CODE

PART II. DEFINITION OF SPECIFIC CRIMES
OFFENSES AGAINST THE LAW SCHOOL

§ 260.0. Definitions.

In Sections 260-265, unless a different meaning plainly is required:

(1) “law student” means a person who has been born and appears to be alive, but has had their soul sucked out through their nose;

(2) “exam” means any officially administered question or set of questions that causes physical pain, illness, impairment of cognitive function, or abnormal bodily response;

(3) “abnormal bodily response” may include headache, indigestion, night sweats, cerebral hemorrhaging, crippling psychic pain, persistent numbness, and a constant questioning of self-worth, as well as any other protracted loss or impairment of the function of any bodily member or organ, or, uh, herpes;

(4) “deadly weapon” means any firearm, device or instrument, which in the manner it is used or is intended to be used is known to be capable of producing death or serious bodily injury;

(5) “gunner” means any law student who, through conduct or appearance, induces in others the strong desire to use a deadly weapon;

6) “platypus” means a small amphibious Australian mammal noted for its odd combination of primitive features and special adaptations, especially the flat, almost comical bill that early observers thought was that of a duck sewn onto the body of a mammal;

(7) “chickenshit” refers to any statute or judicial decision that is poorly formulated or ill-conceived, or, alternatively, to pretty much anything at all;

(8) “outline” means a well-structured encapsulation of course material that you will never finish compiling in time, and will instead be forced to acquire by means of

a) monetary compensation;
b) sexual gratification; or
c) outright theft;

(9) “study” refers to any activities involving a law student’s laptop, including those that have no actual relation to the law itself.

§ 263.1 Cellular Disturbance

(a) A law student commits an offense if, during a class lecture or discussion, they purposely, knowingly, recklessly, or negligently are in possession of communications device that emits an audible ring, tone, or beep;

(b) It is no defense to prosecution under this section that the actor reasonably believed their phone to be “off” or “on vibrate.”

§ 263.2 Aggravated Cellular Disturbance

(a) A law student commits an offense if, during a class lecture or discussion, they purposely, knowingly, recklessly, or negligently are in possession of communications device that emits an audible ring, tone, or beep, and, the ring, tone, or beep is a musical sequence lasting more than five seconds;

(b) an offense under this section is a:

(1) state jail felony if the musical sequence is an approximation of any song
performed by Jewel, Creed, or Matchbox Twenty;

(2) felony of the second degree if the musical sequence is an approximation of
any collaborative effort involving Ja Rule and some chick.

§ 264.1 Criminal Procrastination

(a) A law student commits an offense if, instead of studying substantive criminal law, a topic about which he knows little, he chooses to spend a wholly unreasonable amount of time writing a cheesy Model Penal Code parody that fewer than six people will ever read.