Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
1. Some professors--not many, but some--are extremely lazy. If you have a hunch about one, it's probably right, and the grades will be given out with no particular rhyme or reason.
2. Cold-sending resumes is a monumental waste of time.
3. Don't ever try to predict your exam grades. You'll get your worst grade on the one you "aced" and your best grade on the one you were sure you failed.
4. Outlining as you go along is far more efficient much less stressful than doing it all at the end, even if you think the latter would be "a great way to review."
5. Anyone who struts out of a four hour exam after two hours has really missed the boat on something. Feel free to snicker when they do.
5 1/2. NEVER leave an exam early. That's superbly retarded. Even if all you can do is go back and reword your answers, why not do it and pick up a few style points? That could be the difference between a B+ and an A-, etc. Plus, it makes you look like a damn fool and you will be ridiculed once you're gone.
6. Exercise whenever possible. Don't be one of the multitudes of people who completely let themselves go in law school. Studying, while necessary, is not a replacement for exercise. Plus it makes your brain and your body feel better and lets you sleep more soundly (not to mention getting all the alcohol out of your pores). If you turn into a lard ass during law school, you think you're gonna have a bunch of time to undo the damage when you start practicing? Hmmmmmmmmm??
7. Study groups can be useful but generally are way overrated. You can find out early what works for you, and it's an important thing to do.
8. Ignore professors who tell you not to do "post mortems" once an exam is over. Talk about it as much as you can--why the hell not (but not with someone who doesn't share your enthusiasm)
9. Guys: don't tell anybody, except your best law school friend, anything you don't want everybody at school to know.
Ladies: don't tell anybody anything you don't want everybody at school to know.
10. Try to be as gossip-free and civil with as many people as you can. You never know when you're going to need a favor from an old classmate sometime down the road, even if it's the geeky doofus who raised his hand every day of your first year.
11. 8 hrs of sleep on a school night is too much. 5 is too little. 6 1/2 is perfect.
12. A lot of people who really, really suck as people will get really high-paying jobs, and as a result they will suck even more. Don't waste your time caring too much about this because it's happened since the beginning of time and there's nothing you can do about it.
13. Your non-law school friends don't care at all about your law school jargon or gripes, and why the hell should they? The more you try to sound lawyerly, the less interest they will have in being around you. Most of them probably have no idea how long law school is, how long you've been there, or how long you have left. To them you're just "in school," just like how to you, they're "doing marketing or something."
14. The amount someone talks in class is 150% unrelated to how good their grades will be. I cannot stress this enough.
14 1/2. If your syllabus says class participation is a factor in the final grade, your professor is lying like a motherfucker.
Please feel free to add any wisdoms I left out.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Now the student can make his grades higher;
But instead of outlining and minding the books,
He spent most of it watching The Wire:
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Anywho, upon returning back to Moustache Mansion, I found that a few ounces of the effeminate libation remained in the bottle. Figuring I'd partake in a nightcap whilst watching The Departed, I searched the icebox for potential mixers, and developed the following concoction, which proved sensationomenal:
2 oz. Malibu rum
1 oz. Triple sec
1/2 oz. lime juice
1 oz. fruit punch
Combine in shaker w/ ice, pour into glass, add splash of 7Up. Tell friends it's Everclear and juice to avoid ridicule. Delicious! (Even better with Mark Wahlberg and Alec Baldwin's witty exchanges from The Departed).
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Balancing tests are also a great tactic for a court to use when it already knows what it wants to do (because of the majority's own personal beliefs), but can't think of a legitimate legal justification for doing so. Just throw two parts competing interests on the scale, garnish it with two parts policy rationale, and viola--you've just created a legally sound balancing test to suit your desired result! One of my professors accurately calls this process (esp. in the context of S. Ct. constitutional decisions) "balacing your rights away."
In other news, the interview process is winding down, and I've had a decent run of it so far. Nothing in stone for the summer yet, but a couple of promising things on the horizon. And here's a little gem to give hope to some of you fellow non-top 20%-ers... I was talking to a friend the other day who is on law review, and she has not had a single callback, while several other folks not even in the top half have gotten multiple callbacks, and even offers, from some of the same firms with which she interviewed. Exact same thing w/ a dude I also know on LR. Thus, the dictum seems to have a little truth to it--great grades and LR will of course land you more interviews, but once it's interview time, attitude and personality, not grades, win the day.
MORON OF THE WEEK (month?)
Last but not least, there's a grumpy old somewhat obese, bulbous man who I see in the gym every day "walking" around the track. "Good for him," right? Well, maybe, if he didn't move as fast as an inbred paraplegic sloth. But that's not even what bothers me; the real fuck of it is he always has one of those motherfucking wireless cell phone ear pieces in and holds extremely loud, angry sounding conversations during the entire duration of these"workouts." I'm a firm believer in the fact that if you're talking on the phone, you aren't fucking exercising. And while I'm at it, who the hell are you to shoot me dirty looks just for living? I'm not the one making your exercise attmpts completely and utterly futile. Plus I think he's actually getting fatter. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he shows up one of these days with a TV tray strapped around his chest slurping up a can of Crisco.
But I digress...
Friday, October 19, 2007
PS. If you make me fat I'll fucking shoot you.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
I mean honestly, who wants to see (and oftentimes have to smell) your rancid feet? Half these clowns have toenails you could dice an onion with. Few things are as repulsive as a hungover, hairy fat slob with big gnarly ass feet stumbling through the law school hallway.
And the shit of it is, some girls actually spend time around some of these chronic toe flossers!! Ladies, please wake up and smell the foot fungus. You're playing a direct role in perpetuating a truly nasty phenomenon.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
The crazy racist owner is still alive and ticking... and causing trouble. What a bastard!
Monday, October 1, 2007
Luckily I was fortunate enough to finally get safely over to the shoulder. I stopped the car, got out and took a look...
That's a real-deal blowout right there folks... Miraculously, I only missed one of my morning classes! Oh, and I'm also alive which is good and also somewhat miraculous.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Response: Thurgood Marshall must have just banged his head against the wall for hours every day after work
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
OSU's Henton charged with soliciting prostitute
Columbus, Ohio — Ohio State backup quarterback Antonio Henton pleaded not guilty to a misdemeanor charge of soliciting for prostitution in Franklin County Municipal Court Tuesday.
Henton, 20, was arrested at 8:27 p.m. Monday on High Street near the school's campus after offering an undercover Columbus police officer $20 for intercourse, according to a police complaint.
He was carrying just $19 at the time of his arrest.
That last line is great.
But this episode is just the latest layer off the onion in what has become a perplexing epidemic in our society. For the life of me I will never ever understand athletes and other famous people. Many of you famous people have accomplished virtually nothing in life (See e.g. Lindsay Lohan, reality tv stars, Kevin Federline) yet you dolts are followed and fawned over. You have zillions of dollars. You could be ass-ugly and it wouldn't matter (if you don't believe me, just take a look at these guys):
And instead, what do some of you fools prefer to do? You go to the nastiest of neighborhoods and troll for $20 hookers. At least do what the Republican politicians do (when they aren't lecherously stalking young male aides or soliciting manlove in an airport crapper) and go through the high society madams and get the "classy" broads.
And for crying the muck out loud--STOP DRIVING!!! Leave the drunken driving arrests to teenagers and the law students who can't afford cabs. Why are you even driving in the first place when you have enough money to construct your own personal public transportation system? You should be doing the only thing you know how to do: sitting in a tinted-out stretch something drinking Grey Goose and snorting gator tails of blow with your entourage of coattail-riding peons. I know I would!*
*Dear potential employer: I really wouldn't.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
A man in Gwinnett County captured kittens to feed live to his pit bull, investigators said Thursday.
Sheriff's deputies charged 21-year-old Tye Hilmo Thursday with aggravated cruelty to animals, said Stacey Bourbonnais, spokeswoman for the Gwinnett County Sheriff's Department.
They acted after receiving a tip that Hilmo had been catching neighborhood cats and kittens for his dog to kill, she said. "It's sick," she said. "It's indescribable and sick that people would do this kind of thing to and with animals."
Aggravated cruelty to animals is a felony that carries a sentence of one to five years in prison and/or a fine of up to $15,000.
A tipster said Hilmo, of Dacula, had been using the dog for dogfighting purposes, Bourbonnais said. Despite finding scars on the pit bull, she said, investigators did not have enough evidence to charge Hilmo with dogfighting. Hilmo denied the dog fighting accusation, Bourbonnais said.
Investigators retrieved a particularly graphic image from Hilmo's cell phone, Bourbonnais said — a picture appearing to show a dog chewing a kitten above a caption that reads, "Good dog."
Investigators found the bodies of mutilated kittens at Hilmo's home, Bourbonnais said.
Deputies arrested Hilmo on Sept. 10 after serving a search warrant, Bourbonnais said. They found two pounds of marijuana and seized several firearms including a sawed-off shotgun while investigating the cruelty allegations.
Hilmo was initially charged with unlawful possession of a firearm, possession of dangerous drugs, possession of a weapon during the commission of a crime and violation of probation, possession with intent to distribute and one misdemeanor count of possession of marijuana. Deputies also seized $826 in cash from his residence.
On Thursday, deputies added the animal-cruelty charge. He was being held without bond in the Gwinnett County Jail.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Now of course everybody competes and wants to get an interview. That's a natural part of the process. But some of these firms are pretty selective about class standing, which is why it's superbly obnoxious when somebody who interviews with all the fancy firms decides to apply for interview spots with the much less selective firms which he or she knows with 110% certainty they have zero interest in accepting a summer offer from. So several interview spots are wasted; meanwhile the other 80-85% of students, who would all love a job from that firm, are excluded from interviewing because these elitist slawbags* want to use the smaller firm spots as practice for their "real" interviews.
*If you're unsure who these people are, look no further than the dipshit actually using a "Big, Rich & Pretentious, LLP" koozy at school. A particularly douchy classmate of mine had one forcibly stretched around a lukewarm 20-oz Coke on the first day back from summer.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
It began with a horrendous call (after the keeper slid in front of me and I cut inside towards the goal, he grabbed my legs and wouldn't let go, and, unable to move my legs, I eventually fell on top of him. Inexplicably the Baptists were awarded the free kick), at which point I announced my general disapproval to anyone within shouting distance. The goalie rolled around on the ground for a bit, and I once again articulated my disfavor. This elicited a response from the Baptist bench, who quickly bound together, man and woman united (behold the rib!), and began to assail me with such crushing verbal missiles as "why don't you just quit shouting and play the game!" and "yeah, you just hush!" Now I was just downright irritated and removed my gentlemanly verbal filter, letting loose the aforementioned profane retort. Judging by the looks on their faces I'd wager dollars to doughnuts that those poor bastards had never even heard half the words that shot out of my mouth, and I think they would have preferred to keep it that way.
Somewhere in between "[fornicate] off" and "[Jiminy freaking Christmas]" I casually mentioned to anyone who happened to be listening that I found the referee's opinion of what had just transpired inside the penalty box to be "pure [equine feces]," and I subsequently received my official reprimand.
Five years ago I may have done something stupid (on field or off) to my competitors in retaliation. Eight years ago I definitely would have. Thankfully though, the experience and wisdom of old age have taught me to behave otherwise (well, after I cuss and scream at least), and I actually made a point of making amends with the Baptists and the refs afterwards. It is, after all, as one staunch Baptist supporter proclaimed during my soliloquy, "just a game."
The call really was a load of horse shit though.
Friday, September 7, 2007
I have somehow managed to dupe a few firms into giving me an interview, so I'll see how that goes...
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
from the good people at Wesblog...
Like your clothes, your job, or your strict adherence to Megan's Law, the cocktail you order at your local bar/restaurant/key party tells people a great deal about your personality. “What does it say, exactly?” you're probably wondering. Nothing good, we promise you. Use this handy guide to determine what kind of message you want your drink order to send to that overweight, sexless Target employee you're hoping to bump uglies with tonight.
And remember, kids: Drink as much as you can, as fast as you can.
Probable Hobby: Looking at yourself in the mirror for long periods of time, then going directly back to the gym.
What Your Drink Says: “I'm totally just out with my girlfriends right now, totally just dancing and having fun, but tomorrow, I will totally weep quietly at brunch through my Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses as I repeat the phrase, ‘so cute' as may times as I can.”
SEX ON THE BEACH
Probable Hobby: Very literally, having sex on beaches.
What Your Drink Says: “I am [between the ages of 18 and 20/40 and 45], and I order drinks with provocative names because I haven't experienced sex [ever/in a while]. I am under the mistaken belief that potential sexual partners will [be turned on/take pity on me] upon hearing the word ‘sex' in conjunction with my drink order. I am [very/extremely/mind bogglingly] lonely.”
Probable Hobby: Standing next to German cars that aren't yours, having fake cell phone conversations about the strength of your nonexistent portfolio, and carrying around a tennis racket you have no intention of ever using on a court.
What Your Drink Says: “Ah, yes. Gore Vidal. The Masters. Mercedes-Benz. Ha, ha! What's that, old chap? You dare accuse me of stringing together random words associated with the upper class? I went to Yale School, you rapscallion!”
Probable Hobby: You may be employed at Applebee's, but you also enjoy hanging out there with your other single, high school-educated friends in their mid-30s after your shift's over.
What Your Drink Says:“ I don't actually like drinking, I just like the idea of drinking. Similar, in other words, to my feelings for that new guy I'm blowing.”
Probable Hobby: Buying important-looking books at Barnes & Noble, placing them on your bookshelf, never reading them.
What Your Drink Says: “Not only do I think I'm better than you and therefore too good to drink anything other than this '98 Pinot at a crowded sports bar, but I would also prefer it if you and your $2 shirt would quietly eat your Jalapeño Poppers and return to the middle-class suburb from whence you came.”
Probable Hobby: Attending outdoor summer concerts of ass-awful, washed-up bands like Van Halen and REO Speedwagon. Also, you wear jean shorts there.
What Your Drink Says: “I don't have any issues with drinking during the day or experimenting with bizarre sex positions.”
Probable Hobby: Drinking heavily as early in the morning as possible. Also, drinking cold soup out of a glass.
What Your Drink Says: “I have trouble sitting through late breakfasts and early lunches with other people on account of my crippling dependence on alcohol. Luckily tomato juice-based drinks exist that allow me to get shitfaced as early in the morning as possible.”
LONG ISLAND ICED TEA
Probable Hobby: Reckless behavior that endangers yourself and others, and is therefore hilarious.
What Your Drink Says: “So, wait—you're saying that my date-rape conviction is a turn-off? Come on, that was, like, four months ago. I'm real different now, baby. Hey, hey, hey—where do you think you're going in such a hurry?”
Probable Hobby: Looking for change in your couch, watching porn, using pay phones.
What Your Drink Says: “My career is going exceptionally well. So well, if fact, that I've made the move from ramen noodles to spaghetti with butter. Can I offer you a handful of these unsalted generic-brand peanuts, m'lady?”
ANYTHING WITH GREY GOOSE
Probable Hobby: Tip-frosting parties with your Men's Health-reading buddies from ab class, pointing at people with gun-hands while you dance to Justin Timberlake music, explaining why you totally didn't want to bang that skank anyway.
What Your Drink Says: “My penis doesn't function correctly, and I believe, against all evidence available to me, that 50 Cent is a talented and versatile musical artist.”
Probable Hobby: Punching people in the face.
What Your Drink Says: “Man, I could really punch someone in the face right about now.”
Probable Hobby: Going to the bar, getting so ass-faced that the mere sight of a beer will bring your dinner back with a vengeance. Also of note: you have a great deal of self-control when it comes to choosing sexual partners.
What Your Drink Says: “Wait, wait, wait. I'm gonna puke. Seriously, I'm gonna fucking puke… [Unintelligible] … Ugh… hold on, hold on. Lemme talk. That girl/guy with the face rash is kinda hot.”
Probable Hobby: Being awesome.
What Your Drink Says: “I rock.”
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wow. Just when I thought pro wrestling, the Global Warming Denial Machine, and David Blaine had laid claim to all the gullible people in North America, this knucklehead comes along and usurps the throne. But I can't blame him for making a buck off of the stupidity of others--hell, NASCAR has been doing that for years! My real qualm is with his supporters.
Holy Toledo, he just bit a crowbar in half and levitated in the middle of the street! Amazing! And what's he doing now--oh, my--he's fox-trotting up the side of an office building! How the hell does he do that?? Dude, I think I--yeah...
I'M LIKE TOTALLY MINDFREAKED!!!
The only freaky thing here is that there seems to be a mass following of bafoons who actually buy into this pathetic charade. Newsflash folks, there's nothing Mindfreakish about just plain lying about stuff (trust me, I know--I'm a law student).
The sad reality for these people is that there's a whole lot of mindnumbing and not so much of the mindfreaking going on. This guy wakes up, puts on a black shirt, jewelry and makeup, and stands in front of a camera psyching you out about all this cool shit he's gonna do. The camera stops rolling, he goes home, the editors put in the camera effects, and all of a sudden he's gone from looking like your regular bus station bathroom stall gigolo to Harry fucking Houdini.
The only magical thing about this guy is that he spells his name "Criss" and has yet to get his ass stomped into the intensive care ward. COME ON PEOPLE!!!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
INT. LAW LIBRARY - DAY
Students are busily going about their days, scooting by endless rows of long, tall shelves of important looking leather-bound books as they head to and from class.
SUZIE, a blonde 1L dolled up in trendy wares, sits alone and anxious at a table amidst the shuffle, her eyes wide and tearing, as she stares helplessly into the screen of her laptop.
(frantically prodding at the keyboard)
SAMMY, a short, skinny, enthusiastic, geeky fellow 1L instantly appears from around the staircase. He's clearly been praying for just this opportunity since orientation... which was only three days ago.
(rushes to SUZIE's side)
What's wrong Suzie??!
(still fixed on the screen; now hyperventilating)
I... I can't get my--my... my Torts brief is... G-G-G-GONE!!!
Oh no, Suzie! Are you sure, let me see if I can--
(violently slaps SAMMY's hand away)
DON'T TOUCH THAT! (now sobbing and full-on hysterical)
(hurt, but still hopeful)
Oh, uh, oops. I'm sorry!
While SUZIE throws herself onto her laptop in anguish, SAMMY thinks for a moment, then darts toward the stairwell with astonishing speed and ascends three stairs at a time. Over his shoulder:
Don't worry Suzie!! I'll go get Professor... (trails off)
(face in hands)
BWWWWWWAAAAAAAAH HUUUH HUUUH HOOOOOO HOOOOOOO!!!
From a corner table, previously off-screen, a PAIR OF JADED 2Ls has been casually observing the scene. They watch SUZIE sob, and after a few moments:
JADED 2L #1:
Did that just happen?
JADED 2L #2:
Like you fucking care. Let's go to Checkers.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Okay, so maybe that's not really me... but it'd be a lot cooler if it was. Anywho, the Subcommittee (again--me) officially selected me this week, citing the following reasons:
1. Thus far I cannot, for the life of me, get myself to take school seriously this semester, despite the fact that my lifelong career options kind of depend on doing so.
2. I have on several occasions stayed in the library for well over an hour after my classes were done for the day, but didn't once do any work or reading there (unless you consider Google-imaging Halloween costume ideas to be work, in which case we should be friends).
3. Taking naps on the couch from roughly 4pm to 7pm (also in lieu of studying), thus ruining any chance of getting to bed at a reasonable hour when I have to be up by 7:30 the next morning.
4. Actually finding myself saying, during a conversation with a friend, "I really don't think Joey Harrington [Michael Vick's replacement] is going to be that bad. I mean, really, if you look at the schedule, we could even make the playoffs this year..."
5. I have now spent another 20 minutes bumbling aimlessly on this blog, while I have three reading assignments for tomorrow that I haven't even started yet.
I would like to thank all of the morons in my life for helping me to see what it takes achieve this award. But most of all I thank myself--I couldn't have done it without me. We finally did it, baby!
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
And it's tough to say the least, especially when every single interviewer's page in the career services database reads something like...
- Rank: Top 10%
- Law Review
- Moot Court
Hey, that's great! This on-campus interviewing thing seems like a terrific resource for the 15 people that actually fit these credentials. But for the other 400+ students frantically clawing around for next year's Summer Associate positions, this means lots of time spent writing emails and cover letters that are ignored, resumes that go directly to the trash, and staring at the ceiling imagining what the mother hell you're gonna do when you graduate law school and nobody will hire you.
And hey, new 2L Law Review members: BOO FUCKING HOO for you. So you're camping out in the library on Thursday night, missing a little bit of sleep. You get to brag to recruiters, even to your family. You DON'T however get to loudly "complain" about it in class. Congratulations, you got marvellous grades. The rest of us couln't give a fat tit about it because we're too busy being tortured by images of a future spent enforcing debt collection or doing real estate closings. But hey, check back with me in eight years when you have no one in your social or love life to help you spend the substantial wealth you've amassed.
Bitter? Motherfuckin right! I know it's only August, but SOMEBODY GIVE ME A FUCKING INTERVIEW!!!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
We have Michael Vick and Tim Donaghy (not Kobe, but the short cracker next to him). Vick, of course, you know as indicted (and soon to be convicted) canine coliseum promoter/dog killer (and piss-poor quarterback) extraordinaire. Donaghy is an NBA referee who has just pled guilty to fixing point spreads in games he officiated in order to satisfy his mob gambling debts. Aside from the fact that they're both degenerates, they also have one thing in common: trying their best--and succeeding--to throw away a cushy dream career involving no actual work. Well done gentlemen!
However, Vick is by far the biggest moron here. Here's a guy who came from nothing, but was handed the world because of his innate athletic ability. So you get to the NFL, the city and its NFL franchise immediately embraces you, and you're filthy ass rich. Despite the fact that your intelligence level is embarrasingly low, or that you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a football, you are nonetheless loved by all.
The world has been handed to you! All you have to do in return is lift weights, learn plays, and use your brain sometimes.
But then what kind of moron would you be? Instead, you took the road of the embicile. Let's review a few of your escapades:
- Using the alias "Ron Mexico" on an STD test. Way to sneak below the radar there.
- Settling a civil suit brought by some ho-ho to whom you probably gave herpes
- Getting caught with a stolen watch at an airport security checkpoint
- Smoking weed--and being photographed while doing it
- Trying to sneak a water bottle w/ hidden ganja compartment, also through an airport security checkpoint (because clearly a man with a $140 mil contract should risk his reputation by trying to hang onto a $12.99 weed bottle)
- Admitting you stopped trying (excellent leadership decision) in the fourth quarter of a close game
- Shooting the bird at home fans when they rightfully booed horrendous passing performance no. 138
- Standing up the entire U.S. Congress, who had scheduled a special ceremony to honor your charitable contributions--then blaming AirTran, one of your corporate sponsors, for missing the flight
- Being related to your brother Marcus (okay, not technically his fault--but scoldworthy nonetheless)
Not to mention, in six years in the NFL, your QB skills have actually regressed. Yes, you are a spectacular runner with mind-blowing speed. Unfortunately that's about all you are, and an NFL QB must be much more--e.g. passing accuracy, ability to read a defense, good decision-making, and leadership abilities (see Manning, Peyton; McNabb, Donovan; Brady, Tom).
Nevertheless, despite your repeated off-field episodes and your mediocre QB skills, we gave you the benefit of the doubt. We stuck with you. We naively believed you when you said you were working hard, making the right decisions, and that you loved the Falcons and their fans. And now you've gone and been indicted (and at this point, all but convicted) of some pretty reprehensible, senseless, MORONIC stuff. You have officially snatched disgrace from the jaws of beloved stardom.
And as for you, Tim Donaghy, well, you're just a weasel. Vick may be guilty of being extremely dumb, but you connived to wreck the NBA, thereby toying with people's jobs and integrity, in order to line your pockets a little and fuel your gambling habit. You were making six figures, staying in nice hotels with comfy per diems, and shmoozing with star athletes--all for running around and blowing a whistle a few times a week. But that wasn't enough for you, because you're a sleazy slimeball! You are now going to federal prison, where you may or may not share a cell with a certain mentally challenged ex-quarterback.
Justice Moustache salutes you both for proving that people will always find ways to destroy terrific situiations for themselves. Enjoy your stays in the pokey!
Sunday, August 12, 2007
However, there is of course one crucial difference from last year--that being the fact that I'm not anxious and uncertain about what's in store. I'm not worried about grades, I'm not concerned about who my classmates are and how they'll receive me. All that stuff has since run its course.
I am, however, concerned about the fact that three summer months of leaving your A/C off apparently renders it incapable of working properly. In the seven hours since I've been back, w/ the air on full blast, the temperature in here has actually risen from 87 to 89. I suspect a conspiracy by the power company. They clearly noticed my dramatic dropoff in kilowatt hours and sabotaged my central heat and air in some sort of spiteful recourse.
Anywho, I'm officially back on the blog circuit, I and have plenty of catching up to do, so I promise not to slack like I did over the summer. Yes, I'm back. It's hot as tits, but here we go, on with year numero deuce!
Monday, July 2, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
All spoken by the same lawyer during a hearing:
- "Your Honor, if I may inject for a second..." [interject?]
- "...given the Penelope of the circumstances..." [panoply?]
- "...as the saying goes your Honor, 'a bird in the hand is worth one in the bush.'" [two in the bush]
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Judge X: MR. Z, these requests for jury instructions appear instead to be some sort of a closing argument. Did you actually have any instructions you wanted to submit?
Mr. Z (Inept Defense Counsel): [staring vacantly] Uh, no... your Honor.
In another trial, a PD was virtually inaudible throughout the duration, missed huge points and connections, and irritatingly swayed back and forth in one spot during her entire closing argument. There have however been some impressive performances as well, but the bulk of the experience has been great due mainly to the fact that the judge is fantastic. Judge X goes to great lengths to answer any questions I have and to explain any points of procedure or law I may be fuzzy on. I also recently went with Judge X to a lunch meeting with one of the Justices of our state's Supreme Court, which was obviously pretty cool.
Monday, May 21, 2007
I'll post something neat once some crazy shit happens this summer.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
With Con Law, savage beast since slain days ago
All that stood in the way of year two was Civ Pro.
No meager task this, yet none that should be feared
For the Prof was a soft spoken chap with a beard.
Thus three hours' time would surely be ample chance
to wow Mr. Prof with some civ pro parlance;
So for a few days he drudged through exams from the past
to shore up the process and write answers fast.
A Pennoyer here, there an International Shoe,
"What's the very most trouble Civ Pro Prof could do?"
But while the young student slept soundly in bed
By moonlight Prof crafted his creature of dread.
When sun bathed the schoolhouse the Prof smiled thin
As unshaven faces filed warily in, then
SHUT! went the door as this creation no more was contained, but now loose to wreak terror and gore!
But student held fast--"I'm but strong for the task--
I know ALL the answers to questions you'll ask!"
But what should appear now and dampen his plans,
than a format that far strayed from practice exams.
"One P plus four Ds times three issues?"--the rage--
Student hadn't yet even turned past the first page!
"That's fifteen alone, things just in one question,"
student gasped when he saw four more questions that section.
And the next fact pattern was decidedly worse.
"How many times must I write out 'they all are diverse!?'"
And thusly it went, as the hours rode past
the battle left student beaten down and downcast.
The creature was fierce but at last put to rest
as folklore for future 1Ls before tests.
And as student emerged to a sky clear and blue, he cried,
"Fuck it, I'm done--NOW BRING ON YEAR TWO!"
Saturday, May 5, 2007
The fact that this is even an issue is fucking ridiculous.
Everybody with some semblance of a brain
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
1L: Just because child porn is virtual doesn't mean it's protected by the First Amendment.
Con Law Prof: But children must be used in its production for it to be illegal.
1L: Couldn't the Court consider some virtual child porn to have used a child in the production?
Con Law Prof: I'm not sure I see where you're going with this...
1L: Well, you know how they wire people up and have them move around when they make video games, like Tiger Woods Golf?
Con Law Prof: Oh, I see what you're getting at--kind of like, "here you go, Billy--eat this banana?"
Monday, April 30, 2007
My true purpose in life is to find creative and entertaining ways to sue the everloving shit out of the degenerates behind solicitations such as the one that follows. Awaiting a response from a professor to an emailed question regarding the Presidential Removal Power, I checked my inbox and discovered this instead:
From : Elizabeth Davis
Sent : Monday, April 30, 2007 8:07 AM
To : Justice Moustache
Subject : Get20%OffOnHigh-QualityLicensedPharmaceutics.
Dear Justice Moustache,
Did you know you can get name brand pharmaceuticals shipped straight to your door? We even have Ambien, oral Cialis tabs and more! Check out bestdrugstore.com today!
Never one to shy away from cordial electronic mail exchange, I offered a response.
From : Justice Moustache
Sent : Monday, April 30, 2007 11:42 AM
To : Elizabeth Davis
Subject : Re: Get20%OffOnHigh-QualityLicensedPharmaceutics.
Thanks so much for your email! I don't have anything better to do during law school finals than to read computer-generated emails from worthless cunts like yourself. Why don't you peruse the warehouse and buy six vials of morphine on me and inject them into your eyeballs and heart immediately.
Once that's done, go fuck your slut mother in the poop chute with a spiked bat.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Well I seem to have fallen into the large category of people who ambitiously embark on a blog only to abandon it two weeks later. To all six of the people who have read this--in particularly the one or two that have actually noticed I've been gone--I apologize. As you guys know, second semester of law school is at once bewildering and revealing. I've been busy trying to balance the longtime gf (a non-law student) with cramming my brain full of federal subject matter jurisdiction and equal protection. Somewhere in between, I have fallen into the habit of drinking one glass of scotch every weeknight. Just one; around 11:30, while reading the last bit of jargon for the next day's classes, and it puts me right to sleep. It's quite wonderful actully. And of course Friday nights are generally blackouts, so Saturday is always a wash as far as studying goes.
Anyhwho, I won't get into the Virginia Tech tragedy because for one, we could all use a break, and two, it will just piss me off to mention that worthless SOB and make me depressed thinking about all the people he victimized.
I will however briefly mention something much, much less important, and that's Don Imus. I don't think anyone should be burned at the stake just for being stupid and offensive. If that were the case, Bill O'Reilly would be long gone, Rush Limbaugh would be a heap of ashes, Ann Coulter would be crsipier than a rattlesnake on the summer pavement, and O.J. Simpson... well, we all know his fate awaits him on a much toastier plane. In any event, it's a sorry state of affairs when some decrepit old carmudgeon essentially takes a line from "Doggystyle" and it suddenly balloons into the next Cuban Missle Crisis.
I'm not insensitive or naive (at least I like to think so); I know there's more to it than that. Racist and sexist overtones, of course. But hell, Tim Hardaway ranted on a radio show about how much he hates and is disgusted by gays, and that blew over in less than 48 hours. Of course, in a capitalistic society, money talks, bullshit walks... In this case, the money talking is from the radio stations' corporate sponsors pulling out faster than Tom Brady with his next C-list actress, and the bullshit walking is Don Imus.
But whatever your view may be (and please do share it), let's not lose sight of the real issue here: should Don Imus really be calling out anybody else for having nappy hair?
Friday, February 2, 2007
1. The light ahead is red. Inexplicably, the driver actually speeds up to reach said light more quickly, and then must slam on the brakes once he or she approaches the it, jerking everyone in the car around (see Newton's 2nd(?) Law).
2. Tailgaters. Why do these people do this? What do you honestly hope to accomplish, other than rear-ending someone and increasing your own insurance premiums? It's not making you any tougher, you aren't teaching anybody any lessons, and OH, jack knob, here's a newsflash--you're the one who's going to be liable for the accident, even if it's because the person you are tailgating has done something stupid.
3. Cellphone--or worse--texting drivers. Some of us can have a brief conversation on our phone while still safely operating a motor vehicle. Many of us cannot. None of us can while texting.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
To further compound my confusion, I was nonchalantly conversing with another 1L the other day, a nice guy, but one whom I hadn't really figured to have much of a brain. Turns out he got all As and high Bs... which leaves me to go further impale myself on the piercing cutlass of humility. I have chosen to view this lesson as a blessing though; this experience has taught me to forget whatever I thought I knew about my own God-given abilities, and more importantly, not assume I have everyone figured out.
Moving along, I was watching Larry King last night (not really on purpose; I was flipping around) and saw Donald Trump. And I don't care about who's right or right and wrong--you've gotta love this guy. Larry showed a clip from that God-awful piece of midmorning feces, "The View" (which does for the female image what beer ads do for males), in which the lead hens are pecking about on stage, once again clucking about the Donald. Rosie O'Donnell reared back her chicken head and screeched some jibberish about "The Apprentice" tanking (which is news to me), much to the delight of the spectator hens, at which point Barbara Walters recants her previous disclosures about hating Rosie (as every American citizen does, aside from the sycophantic flabby-armed housewives gleefully gyrating in the audience). Donald of course comes across cooler and classier, reluctant to beat the dead horse that is this ongoing charade, and casually pointed out that "The Apprentice" commands ratings that Rosie's canceled show could never have dreamed of, and that once they stop talking about him on The View, the ratings will come back down again.
I used to admire Barbara Walters for her journalism, but I can't help but lose all respect for her after she carved out her own backbone and pretended she loved Rosie.
In any event, without The View we would never have been graced with Tracy Morgan's impressions of Star Jones, which make this whole mess worthwhile.
And most importantly, Barack Obama will compete for the 2008 Democratic Presidential nomination.
I do have my fears about the way the country will react since so many people (mostly cavemen, cannibals, and NASCAR enthusiasts) aren't ready to have a non-white male President, but if we are able to at least open up to the possibility, it would be an unprecedented leap forward for America. Plus, even the most red-blooded Republicans are starting to realize that anything is better than what we're currently stuck with.**
**disclaimer: Republicans are Americans too, and I have several right wing friends who would even argue that they are also human beings.
Monday, January 15, 2007
In other news, I'm at the end of my facking wits with you cell-phone-in-the-library people. Are these dolts for real? How in God's name can you actually not know it's a cardinal sin to allow your flipphone to blare a polyphonic cacophony of "I'm Bringing Sexy Back" at ear-splitting decibel levels in the middle of a fucking law library? And then, the real shit-kicker... After waiting six or seven ring cycles so they're sure everyone in the building knows they are important enough to have received a phone call, an uncanny majority of these idiots then proceeds to ANSWER the phone and CARRY ON A CONVERSATION.
It absolutely baffles my mind to think that there are people who can exist a quarter of a century or more on this planet and still manage to avoid absorbing even the most slight consideration for your fellow human being.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
And I got an A. Hot damn! I now have an A, B, and a C so far, which demonstrates just how ridiculous the grading process is. Do yourself a favor--do NOT make any attempts at grade prognostication. The grades are shot forth from some entropic void and are subject neither to the bounds of logic nor comprehension.
Still have one grade to go though... If the current upward trend continues, I'm due for about a 97, which would be nice. Alas, I feel this could be a pretty bad one, so I'll keep my fingers crossed.*
*Surprisingly, I ended up getting a high B, which helped to heal my GPA from the Torts grade. I'm still pissed at that fucking Gonzo though.
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
After taking the Torts final, I was sure I had basically crushed it. After Criminal, I thought I may not have done as well--maybe, GASP--even as low as the class average. Then came Contracts. Ooohhhhh, baby, I strutted out of the room like a southside pimp with a leopard skin cape after roasting that little slice of nothing. DEFINITE A there. Property didn't go so well, but hey--I was already on Law Review with the way I killed everything else, so why sweat it?
I didn't so much drive home for the holidays as much as I rode there atop a veritable wave of unsubstantiated delusions of success and future six-figure legendary lawyering, and promptly informed my parents that the worst scenario was that I would land in the top 50% (as IF), and the best-case scenario, I was looking at the top 10-15%. I mean, I'm just so fuckin smart, I aced these piddly little exams. What was the big deal? I couldn't see why anyone would ever work him or herself into a neurotic frenzy over such an easily surmountable obstacle as law school finals. But then again, most people aren't blessed with my unprecedented intellect and ability.
Enter Lady Registrar.
"Professor Gonzo's Torts Grades have been posted to the portal," the email read. Finally--confirmation of my own greatness! My head dizzied as I typed in my password, scrolled down and...
Wait, this isn't right. MUST be a typo. Does Gonzo not double check his entries? This CAN'T be right...
I had gotten a C.
Shaken, distraught, and speechless with disbelief, I zombied through the remainder of the evening. Surely this is the worst of it. An aberration--Gonzo was clearly exhausted when he graded my exam--or just mad--or graded mine first without being able to compare it to the inferior exams of my classmates. I couldn't sleep.
The next day, another email. "Professor Zork's Contracts grades have been posted to the portal." Once bitten, now shy, I slowly moved the cursor like an apprehensive stray dog approaching a well-meaning stranger weilding a hunk of top sirloin.
My Contracts grade, what I had prematurely proclaimed to be the crowning achievement of my first law school efforts: a B-.
I saturated my brain with all sorts of legal knowledge over the past five months, but this is shaping up to be the most crucial lesson I've learned yet. Stay tuned.