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.