Where does one begin when describing the end? Three weeks of pure stress consumed my life. Every morning I awoke to thoughts about law school studying. Every night I fell asleep reviewing the day’s studies. I ate in between studying, and I slept when my brain could no longer retain information. Fewer hours of sleep were had than when major papers were due; my lack of undergraduate attempts to cram information into every fold of my brain were made up in a few short days of studying. Rereading, relearning, reviewing, retreading through the same information was all that occurred.
My roommate was gone to study at a local restaurant with her friend when I awoke, and asleep as I studied into the early morning. This mix-match of schedules created the perfect study environment inside the cave (known to commoners as my house). I saw sunlight shine through the windows too many times as I pull the covers over my drained body. My sustenance was comprised of foil wrapper after foil wrapper filled with peanut butter cup. The roommate pondered staging an intervention to stop my eating habits. My consumption of sub-standard, nutrition value-lacking food would drive any twig look-alike to blowup to enormity and waddle like a pregnant penguin whose only asset was calories and chins. I, however, kept all the weight off – I would like to thank stress for its somewhat positive effect on my life. I would also like to damn stress to the darkest corners of the galaxy. Martians are probably better equipped to deal with it anyhow.
I have not before experienced the intensity with which I was admonished. I am now all the much stronger as a result. Stronger, that is, until I think about doing the same thing five more times. I shake my head and skip a heart-beat every time I ponder this conundrum. Please, send help. I sent only one complaint to the Dean. A success in itself.
We will start where any good story begins: at the beginning; well, we shall continue this story at the beginning that comes after the overview, but before the substance. Bear with me –
Monday, December 10 at 8:30 AM (crazy-early, like all our tests) came a little too quickly. Civil Procedure, like all other classes, was a shot in the dark. We were, however, shooting in the dark, trying to hunt one pissed-off grizzly bear. All we had was a sad red-rider bb-gun. The bb-gun was provided through our allowed open-notes testing. We knew exactly what to expect because we had a midterm examination. In fact, this was the only class that we had an inkling of a clue as to how it was going to end up: bad. Very, very bad. Being the first of four finals, I saved very little room in my already over-consumed memory bank. I felt very solid walking out of the examination. My test software did not cause a malfunction on my computer, I finished the test, and was confident as I walked out of the building. We were given a character limitation – every press of the spacebar made me wince in pain - and I will be darned if I did not utilize every last character I was allotted. I had a job to do, and I was going to do it in every inch of the page that I could. The only problem was revealed as my classmates incessantly attempted to confer how well they did on the exam. When a curve is instituted, as is done in law school, hearing this cheerful demeanor from one’s classmates is just about the last thing anybody wants to hear. I still feel solid, but I have no clue how I will actually end up doing.
I went home, and without a thought, pulled out my Contracts materials. Let’s face it: I was comfortable with Civil Procedure and Criminal Law, but Contracts and Torts left much to be desired in my knowledge-banks. I studied my behind off. Perhaps that is where the peanut butter cups went.
Wednesday, a mere day and one-half was six hours of sleep later. We were expected to perform with great precision. The Uniform Code was deeply ingrained in whatever faction of my body that would accept such dull and dry information. When do I apply it? Who is the buyer, and who is the seller? What the heck is a contract? When do I email the Dean? Yes, these were all questions I pondered keenly.
The word-count on this test was intense. The intensity rose because this was a two part test with a short 10 minute break in the middle of the first essay/short-answer section that was open-book, and the second part: a closed-book, confusing multiple choice section. Again, my annoying and overly-burdensome classmates insisted on discussing the first part of the test during the break. I had to restrain Michelle from stabbing the “discussers” with a pen, and she would reciprocate with restraining me from using the blunt end of my highlighters to inflict pain on my colleagues. It was not pretty.
Needless to say, I had “issues” with the professor and the test, as has been previously discussed. I either nailed this test, or I was so far off that I had no clue about that which I thought I had a clue. Can you say roll of the dice?
Finally, we were given a “breather” of sorts. Criminal Law was slated for the following Monday (December 17). As I have heard from friends at other Law Schools, our school followed suit with stories of impossible criminal law exams. This test was no different. Like many other tests, we were to assume the lack of any laws in existence and should proceed as if the fact pattern was assumed to be a case of first-impression. Meaning, it was the first case of its kind. Immediately following the exam, I rewrote the question with as much precision as possible – I think it is almost identical to the actual pattern given on the test, and have included it at the end for your enjoyment. Basically, the question was what we (meaning I, the writer) refer to as a “throw in everything, including the stainless steel kitchen sink”. And, that is exactly what I did. I had charges ranging from child endangerment to criminally negligent homicide and from assault/battery to murder. Heck, we even had a bit of conspiracy and accomplice charges.
As per the multiple choice, very few gave me problems. I committed a feux paux, and actually looked up the questions to see if I was correct. It bothered me too much to just wonder. There were a few questions that I narrowed down and made a “best guess” pick. From those questions I remembered well enough to be able to look up with accuracy, I got all-but-one on which I had trouble correct. The lone question I question, I could not remember my answer. It is becoming my catch phrase, but “we shall see”.
Out of all the exams, I eerily felt the most comfortable with my performance on this examination. It was part essay part multiple choice (20 questions). The essay had a limit on the length (as they all seem to do) and the entire test was closed-book. It was just me and my terrorized mind. For a victim of crime, my brain and I did pretty well. I THINK I did well, but who really knows?
The final examination occurred that freaky Wednesday. December 19, 2007 signaled the final examination of my first semester of law school. The open-book examination left me without much memory afterward. I walked out, and almost instantly forgot what was asked. The fact-pattern was five-pages long, single spaced, 12-point font. It was long. There were three questions asking us to argue three different motions from either the plaintiff or the defense views. The word limit was incredibly small. I outlined my answers, though this was not easy because it was, again a case of first impression, in a jurisdiction where the only laws we knew were those which we were given (which was one) and we could not make any assumptions (like any other question in law). I had all my answers written out, as I was not paying attention to length, within one and one-half hours. At this point somebody walked out of the class having finished, apparently – this was an insane act. I spent the next part of the three hour examination cutting-down and refining my answers to the questions. I thought, with the immense amount of time that was left, I would be done well before time was called. I was, in fact, one of the very last people, in the class of over 120, to walk out of the room. I used every minute of the test. I cited ever ounce of persuasive authority (specifically the Restatement of Torts) that was available to me. I read, wrote, and redid both those steps more times than I wish to remember. It could never be absolutely perfect. As before, either I was dead on, or my brain was dead off. I got over it very quickly. Did I mention that I literally did not sleep for even one-minute the night before the test? Yeah, I did not sleep. It was not anxiety. I do not know what it was. I tried drugging myself with allergy medication. No luck. Oh well. At least I have a mild excuse. But, excuses stink.
I have purposely left out key parts of my studying and notes process and use. In this curve-ridden dog-eat-dog world, as instituted by those in charge, I feel that any revelation as to what I believe to be partial brilliance on my part, would help my classmates all too much. Perhaps when the curve and my grades no longer has such effect on my life, sharing will be possible. Just know, that I felt very prepared when examinations were open-note.
Finals is stressful because the examination grades account for what isliterally the entire grade in the class. Finals is stressful because we know that how we do on these tests has an effect on our lives and income-earning ability. I, however, believe that the period after finals, but before the release of grades, is more stressful. Final examination study time is rough, but you can control all elements of your ability to get the grades you want. You can study harder, create better outlines. You control the preparation. When you are done and waiting, there is nothing you can do. The control is no longer in your hands. We are sitting dugs. Kangaroos in a cage. A wingless bird.
I have so many more stories. Like the one about how my roommate had the gall to complain to me about receiving an A- in legal writing. Or, the one about how even those who call her a friend complain about her cut-throat nature. Being competitive is one action, but “throwing your mother under the bus” for a grade is heinous. I do not approve. More later. My brain still does not fully function.
So, here I sit. Waiting. Wishing. Hoping. I do, however, sleep more at the present time. Perhaps that is good.
Was it all worth it? I do not know.
-----
Criminal Law Final Essay Question Remembered
Nita Nanny is a 19 year old au pair from Denmark who is hired by the Smiths to be care for their 3 year old son, Sam. In exchange for her watching Sam for 40 hours per week, the Smiths will provide her with room and board in addition to $200 per week. The job gets rough from the beginning, as Nita is forced to watch Sam for 60-80 hours per week, as Sam’s mother is working at a big project at work. Mrs. Smith promises to offset the time worked when the project is completed. Because she must work so much, Nita is forced to miss classes and study time.
Her boyfriend, Bob, came over to the Smith’s house, as he normally does when they are away, and brought Nita her grades. She has earned a failing grade in one class and a C- and D in the other two classes. Nita is very upset with the Smiths. Nita got into an argument with Sam, who tried to bite and kick Nita. Nita became frustrated and, in a fit of rage, slammed Sam against a wall, and told him to stay in the room to rest. It turns out that Sam suffered an injury to his head when it hit a toy truck after he was slammed against the wall.
After Nita left the bedroom, she and Bob went to the couch where Nita expressed her anger at the Smiths, and said, “I am going to get even with them.” Bob agreed that Sam was a “brat” and told Nita that he would help her get even.
At 5:00PM, Nita went to check on Sam, and couldn’t find him in his room. When she walked into the kitchen, she saw Sam holding a large knife – he had access to the knives because they had been carelessly left laying out. Sam lunged toward Nita with the knife. Nita though Sam was attacking her, and she feared for her line – Sam was not actually attacking her, but merely passing out of consciousness. Nita looked for a way to escape, but realized she couldn’t exit in time, and saw a knife near her. She reached for the knife, which was barely out of reach. At this moment, Bob walked in, and seeing the situation, slid Nita the knife. Nita stabbed Sam, and called 911 immediately after. Despite their best efforts, the Doctors could not save him, and Sam died. The Doctor told them that if Sam did not suffer the head injury, he probably would not have died from the stabbing.
Discuss any possible charges the prosecution could bring against Nita and Bob, any possible defenses, and arguments and reasoning you use therein. Do not restate arguments that you have already made, refer to the previous arguments and state how it is different in its application. You will be graded on how clear, concise and complete you are.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Monday, December 24, 2007
Life Is Good - December 24, 2007
Though I have not gotten around to reliving the dreadful experience that was finals in law school, I am driven to share a recent (as of minutes) experience that I was given the opportunity to undertake.
In a showing of goodwill to my neighbors - and to suck-up to one whose daughter-in-law (a regional recruiter for a very large, very well-paying, highly respected law firm) was visiting - I baked cookies (dark chocolate and white chocolate) and brownies, from scratch, and delivered a serving of each to all of them. Upon delivering my savory baking to my across-the-street-neighbor, I was invited to join them for a Christmas Eve gathering they were hosting. Being a Jew, and longing for some tasty food, I decided to take them up on this offer. It was a fantastically brilliant choice to join them.
The food layout was incredible. Every seafood-eating pseudo-vegetarian alive would have yearned for the food. Butter shrimp, eggplant rollitini, lobster ravioli, clams, muscles, stuffed mushrooms and a salad that was to-die-for. It was amazing. Four beers, three plate-fulls and many dessert servings later, I was one happy guy. The family quickly took me in as one of their own. I felt very much at home. They say that the closest thing to a Jewish family is an Italian family, and whoever said that was right.
The fire department, with their engine pulling a trailer with a sleigh mounted to it and Santa Clause on board made their stop at the house. All the neighborhood kids (and I mean ALL the kids) came into the house and sat on Santa's lap and received a toy. Jesus Christ has the best birthdays! This year, I got to partake in the spoils of his festivities.
It has been a long while since I had this much fun. I am thankful for neighbors. Let's hear it for attempts to suck-up - it never fails to yield joy and prosperity for me.
Life is good.
In a showing of goodwill to my neighbors - and to suck-up to one whose daughter-in-law (a regional recruiter for a very large, very well-paying, highly respected law firm) was visiting - I baked cookies (dark chocolate and white chocolate) and brownies, from scratch, and delivered a serving of each to all of them. Upon delivering my savory baking to my across-the-street-neighbor, I was invited to join them for a Christmas Eve gathering they were hosting. Being a Jew, and longing for some tasty food, I decided to take them up on this offer. It was a fantastically brilliant choice to join them.
The food layout was incredible. Every seafood-eating pseudo-vegetarian alive would have yearned for the food. Butter shrimp, eggplant rollitini, lobster ravioli, clams, muscles, stuffed mushrooms and a salad that was to-die-for. It was amazing. Four beers, three plate-fulls and many dessert servings later, I was one happy guy. The family quickly took me in as one of their own. I felt very much at home. They say that the closest thing to a Jewish family is an Italian family, and whoever said that was right.
The fire department, with their engine pulling a trailer with a sleigh mounted to it and Santa Clause on board made their stop at the house. All the neighborhood kids (and I mean ALL the kids) came into the house and sat on Santa's lap and received a toy. Jesus Christ has the best birthdays! This year, I got to partake in the spoils of his festivities.
It has been a long while since I had this much fun. I am thankful for neighbors. Let's hear it for attempts to suck-up - it never fails to yield joy and prosperity for me.
Life is good.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Contracts... and my Letter - December 12, 2007
The below summarizes my Contracts Final Examination experience. Given the circumstances, I feel great about my performance on the test.
Cheers!
-----
To Whom It May Concern:
In a normal course of events, I would strive to avoid complaint, but the circumstances of a final today do not allow me to remain silent. I am sure your office receives numerous irate and questioning students posing varying qualities of issues about fairness and test-writing. Passing judgment as to the quality of questions on a test is reserved for those times when there is more than one occurrence of what can be described as that which we have been taught amounts to negligence.
Professor S. presented our 1L Contracts class with a final examination that was noticeably flawed and carelessly left without updates. More than once, questions would speak to one subject in the prompt, and the subsequent multiple-choice answers would refer to a very different subject. In one prompt a limousine was the item in question in a transaction; the proceeding answers left us to decide between an answer that could very possibly fit and an answer that fit but referred to a boat. If we were to assume he meant limousine and not a boat, the second answer would be the correct choice, if we were to assume instructor infallibility, the first would be the best choice. This type of problem occurred multiple times; one question spoke about scooters, and the answers referred to widgets.
The problem with assuming a mistake on the professor's part occurred where the Professor posed a question about a volume seller, but directed us to refer to the first part of a section of the UCC that spoke to non-volume sellers. The second part of the very same section speaks to volume sellers. Were we to follow his instructions, we would be applying the wrong part of the UCC yielding a certain answer; to apply the correct part of the UCC would be another answer that was provided. The supposition that the professor made mistakes in questioning would lead to one answer; reasoning that he purposely wrote the test as he did, led to another answer.
Many law schools provide students with a form, as a part of each test, that they can use to challenge questions of this nature. I do not envy the Professors in the test writing and grading processes, but fairness in questioning is a very large issue. Test questions should not require students to make wild assumptions as to the intent and carelessness of the professor in addition to attempting to presume the circumstances under which the test was written.
Thank you for your time in addressing this issue. I imagine I am not the only one bringing this issue to your attention.
Should the issue require further explanation or description, I would be delighted to assist you in any way I can. You may reach me by email or telephone at your convenience.
Again, I apologize if I come across as complaining, but I realize that this is an issue that has the potential to affect no only myself, but my peers as well. It is also that which should be corrected for the future, as it is unreasonable to expect high performance on exams that are not of the highest quality themselves.
Very Respectfully Yours,
Cheers!
-----
To Whom It May Concern:
In a normal course of events, I would strive to avoid complaint, but the circumstances of a final today do not allow me to remain silent. I am sure your office receives numerous irate and questioning students posing varying qualities of issues about fairness and test-writing. Passing judgment as to the quality of questions on a test is reserved for those times when there is more than one occurrence of what can be described as that which we have been taught amounts to negligence.
Professor S. presented our 1L Contracts class with a final examination that was noticeably flawed and carelessly left without updates. More than once, questions would speak to one subject in the prompt, and the subsequent multiple-choice answers would refer to a very different subject. In one prompt a limousine was the item in question in a transaction; the proceeding answers left us to decide between an answer that could very possibly fit and an answer that fit but referred to a boat. If we were to assume he meant limousine and not a boat, the second answer would be the correct choice, if we were to assume instructor infallibility, the first would be the best choice. This type of problem occurred multiple times; one question spoke about scooters, and the answers referred to widgets.
The problem with assuming a mistake on the professor's part occurred where the Professor posed a question about a volume seller, but directed us to refer to the first part of a section of the UCC that spoke to non-volume sellers. The second part of the very same section speaks to volume sellers. Were we to follow his instructions, we would be applying the wrong part of the UCC yielding a certain answer; to apply the correct part of the UCC would be another answer that was provided. The supposition that the professor made mistakes in questioning would lead to one answer; reasoning that he purposely wrote the test as he did, led to another answer.
Many law schools provide students with a form, as a part of each test, that they can use to challenge questions of this nature. I do not envy the Professors in the test writing and grading processes, but fairness in questioning is a very large issue. Test questions should not require students to make wild assumptions as to the intent and carelessness of the professor in addition to attempting to presume the circumstances under which the test was written.
Thank you for your time in addressing this issue. I imagine I am not the only one bringing this issue to your attention.
Should the issue require further explanation or description, I would be delighted to assist you in any way I can. You may reach me by email or telephone at your convenience.
Again, I apologize if I come across as complaining, but I realize that this is an issue that has the potential to affect no only myself, but my peers as well. It is also that which should be corrected for the future, as it is unreasonable to expect high performance on exams that are not of the highest quality themselves.
Very Respectfully Yours,
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Stream of Think
A great (and what I am told is a famous) hypothetical:
"Plaintiff alleges that Defendant borrowed plaintiff's pot and put a crack in it. Defendant answers that he did not borrow the pot; alternatively, the pot was never cracked; and alternatively, the pot was already cracked when he borrowed it."
- "Would this pleading be permissible under Rule 11, assuming any reasonably likely set of facts?"
"Plaintiff alleges that Defendant borrowed plaintiff's pot and put a crack in it. Defendant answers that he did not borrow the pot; alternatively, the pot was never cracked; and alternatively, the pot was already cracked when he borrowed it."
- "Would this pleading be permissible under Rule 11, assuming any reasonably likely set of facts?"
Contract Flaw - Quick Study Thought - December 8, 2007
Oh contract law!
Instead of saying: "if you start working, you accept the offer and promise to complete the job", they say "Where an offer can be accepted either by promise or performance the tender or beginning of performance is an acceptance by performance and such an acceptance operates as a promise to render complete performance." (Restatement of Contracts 62)
No wonder people hate attorneys.
Instead of saying: "if you start working, you accept the offer and promise to complete the job", they say "Where an offer can be accepted either by promise or performance the tender or beginning of performance is an acceptance by performance and such an acceptance operates as a promise to render complete performance." (Restatement of Contracts 62)
No wonder people hate attorneys.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Still Alive - December 5, 2007
I am still breathing. The last week of classes and finals are no fun. But, alas, I live.
Check out two new features:
1) Sandal Watch. As they say, you can take the boy out of California, but you cannot take the California out of the boy.
2) Interactive poll. Help choose the content and give me some ideas of want the readers want to know.
I will be doing a major post this weekend when I take a break from studying.
My finals schedule is as follows:
December 7, 2007 - Evening - Synagogue - Jewish Services
December 8, 2007 - Morning - Mosque - Muslim Prayer
- Evening - Temple - Hindu Spiritual Prayer
December 9, 2007 - Morning - Church - Mass
- Evening - Temple - Buddhist Meditation
December 10, 2007 - All the prayer in the world...
December 10, 2007 - 8:30AM - Civil Procedure
December 13, 2007 - 8:30AM - Contracts
December 17, 2007 - 8:30AM - Criminal Law
December 19, 2007 - 8:30AM - Torts
December 19, 2007 - 11:31AM - I become inebriated
Wish me luck... Check back in at your leisure.
Check out two new features:
1) Sandal Watch. As they say, you can take the boy out of California, but you cannot take the California out of the boy.
2) Interactive poll. Help choose the content and give me some ideas of want the readers want to know.
I will be doing a major post this weekend when I take a break from studying.
My finals schedule is as follows:
December 7, 2007 - Evening - Synagogue - Jewish Services
December 8, 2007 - Morning - Mosque - Muslim Prayer
- Evening - Temple - Hindu Spiritual Prayer
December 9, 2007 - Morning - Church - Mass
- Evening - Temple - Buddhist Meditation
December 10, 2007 - All the prayer in the world...
December 10, 2007 - 8:30AM - Civil Procedure
December 13, 2007 - 8:30AM - Contracts
December 17, 2007 - 8:30AM - Criminal Law
December 19, 2007 - 8:30AM - Torts
December 19, 2007 - 11:31AM - I become inebriated
Wish me luck... Check back in at your leisure.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Finals
I will most likely not be making an entry every day. I hope to do a weekly recap during the last week of classes...
For finals, I will recap after each test.
Sorry I cannot amuse as much. Keep checking in, though.
For finals, I will recap after each test.
Sorry I cannot amuse as much. Keep checking in, though.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
This Just In: Three More Entries Posted... again
Yet again, three new posts are up:
1) November 19
2) November 20-25 (Thanksgiving Recap)
3) November 26
The post for November 27 will be posted later today... Read on!
1) November 19
2) November 20-25 (Thanksgiving Recap)
3) November 26
The post for November 27 will be posted later today... Read on!
Monday, November 26, 2007
Homecoming... and Hating - November 26, 2007
My flight was delayed. And then, it was delayed. The trip was a red-eye, so delaying the timing would be even more detrimental to my well-being.
I wanted to spend as much time at home as was possible, so I planned the latest flight possible that would allow me to attend class at 10:00AM the morning I landed. With every delay, these chances were lessened.
Long-story-short, I arrived at my house with 10 minutes to spare to get to class. In other words, class was out of the question, and sleep was not a question.
I slept.
That was pretty much my day. Not a whole lot to it.
California is a lot better than this place. We landed in rain, and it never stopped. It was freezing cold, so that added additional insult.
Welcome home to me!
I wanted to spend as much time at home as was possible, so I planned the latest flight possible that would allow me to attend class at 10:00AM the morning I landed. With every delay, these chances were lessened.
Long-story-short, I arrived at my house with 10 minutes to spare to get to class. In other words, class was out of the question, and sleep was not a question.
I slept.
That was pretty much my day. Not a whole lot to it.
California is a lot better than this place. We landed in rain, and it never stopped. It was freezing cold, so that added additional insult.
Welcome home to me!
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Thanksgiving Surprise (No, It Is Not A Meat) - November 20 - 25, 2007
It is amazing when a plan comes to fruition, and even more so when it is perfect.
I have to hand it to my father. He is a man known for his inability to keep secrets from my mother. Perhaps this is why they have such a strong, lasting relationship that is becoming more rare as our society progresses throughout time. Maybe both my parents know just how bad a marriage can be, and as a Family Law Attorney and Marriage & Family Therapist they have the tools and intelligence to work through even the most rough times.
I really think my father is no good at staying quiet because my mom trained him well.
Regardless, somehow, for two and one-half months, my father kept my secret quiet. We are scheming men, but that made my visit home all-the-more fun for everybody.
My secret trip home for Thanksgiving could not have been better calendared - it was planned at a time where I needed familiar faces and places. You know, a place where everybody knows your name, and, most of the time, they are always glad you came.
I was in a bad place mentally, it seemed. I was losing all hope, and my ability to function was severely dampened. I do not think I could have waited another week for the trip home, but alas, we shall never know because I did, in fact, make it to California.
I was picked up at the airport by Sarah, and precariously called my father, as is custom, to let him know I landed safely. He did not pick up the phone, I presume, because the time difference (11:00PM Pacific Time = 2:00AM Eastern Time) would have set off alarms to my Mother. Smart man.
Again, keep in mind that the only family member who knew of my arrival was my father. My mother and siblings were unaware. In the weeks leading up to the surprise, I had been fantastically vague and elusive in all my communications, making my best effort to never lie.
Even upon my arrival, when I was less than 15 minutes from my brother's domicile, I was in the city, and when asked what I was up to, I replied that I was "in the city with some friends," or, when I was at the train station, I said "I am at the train station…". You know, the truth, packaged up nice and pretty so that everybody would think I was on the East Coast.
Anyhow, I got to the airport to fly to the West Coast more than two-and-a-half hours early. My roommate, who was kind enough to drive me from school to the airport, and I had expected plenty of traffic and long lines at the airport. We were wrong on both accounts. I had packed to carry my luggage onto the plane, but with such ease of checking the baggage, I figured "why not?" I should stop figuring, because this was to be a long, needless progression of debauchery and stupidity.
I leisurely walked to my gate, having all the time in the world to frolic willy-nilly about the concourse. I sat down knowing that law school would be put on hold, and that I could set my mind free. I looked down casually at my ticket stub and the ticket jacket in which it was neatly sitting. Cue the horror crescendo. Release the shrieks of terror!
I looked at the baggage claim sticker, and thought to myself "I am not Julie Cohen, and I am certainly not going to Seattle!" Well, I was going to California, but my baggage was taking a vacation to beautiful Washington. I quickly alerted the desk staff, who told me that they would work on it and get back to me. I was asked to return in about 30 minutes for a status update.
Upon returning, after having called my father to relay the dismal failure that is the airline system, they told me that my bag should be on my plane, and that no problems are foreseen. This was the first lie I was told by Delta, the airline that used to be of my favorite budget carriers.
I arrived in California - having ridden cross-country in a luxurious exit aisle seat with all the leg room a person of my 5-foot 5-inch stature can muster - and waited for my baggage. I waited. And waited. And then went to the missing baggage office. [It hits me that any industry that has an office that is dedicated to the company's relentless and abundant screw-ups says a lot about the industry.] I relayed to them my baggage tag conundrum, and was assured (with witnesses present) that my bags were not in Seattle "for sure". Lie two.
I then proceeded to spout off the following frustrated monologue: "You mean to tell me that instead of losing my baggage in the incompetent way that you should have lost my baggage, you instead lost my baggage in a way you shouldn't have lost my baggage, even though my baggage should not have been lost in the first place, and on top of all of this, you have no idea where my baggage is or how long it will take to get me the baggage that you shouldn't have lost and do not know where it is?"
Enter dumbfounded look on the face of the Delta staff member. Enter dumbfounded, but what I can only assume was a smug look on Sarah's face (who was my witness and my ride). Apply pernicious feelings and demeanor to me (that were the result of my frustration).
Did I mention that I was wearing the same suit that I had been wearing at the hearing I was at today (Tuesday, November 25)? Well, I was wearing a suit. I wanted a change of clothes, and I definitely wanted new underwear now.
Without exhausting the topic, I told them that I would not be home until Thursday, and that if my baggage came in before then I would need it delivered elsewhere. They took my phone number and told me that they would call before they delivered it so that I could tell them where to take it. Lie three. They called before, but could not change where they were delivering the baggage, so it took a lot of creativity on my father's part to conceal both the bag and the fact that it belonged to me.
The windup of the story is this: my bag did, in fact, end up in Seattle, as evidenced by Julie Cohen's baggage tag on my bag upon my receipt of the bag, and I had a lovely time speaking with Delta Representatives on the phone who told me that the only way they will reimburse me for any expenses (ie: a new pair of underwear or a toothbrush) was if I were going to a funeral. My first thought was to respond: "if I kill somebody, say a lost baggage representative from Delta, would that count?" I decided that would not go over well, and proceeded to explain/argue, as is my nature, the ins-and-outs of how an exception to a policy that is applied the same every time, is in fact a policy, and how treating one person differently because of a demographic is, in some civilized societies, referred to as prejudice "you know, like enslaving black people and not letting Jews own businesses." Prejudice? Bigotry? Hmmm.
Anyhow, I got shafted.
I somehow coordinated with my Father to meet he and my mother for breakfast on the morning of Thanksgiving. When one restaurant was closed, he had to relay to me a new meeting point - I never could figure out how he did this with my mom in the car with him. We finally got to one restaurant, and very stealthily, I sneaked up behind my mother.
I almost killed her.
Heart attack struck when she turned around - but not really. She was stunned, and was a mix of giddy and enthralled by me. I mean, really, who thinks they are going to see their son who has been encamped on the other side of the country when his visit was unplanned?
The rest of the visit did not go exactly as planned, though I am not complaining. I spent a lot of time with my family - more than I had anticipated - and was unable to see all the friends I had wanted. That was the only downside.
I had been worried that I would have such an enjoyable time that I would not want to go back to the East Coast, which would be a problem, or that I would realize how much I miss California and be even more homesick upon my return. Either way, I had not wanted to have that occur. I decided to keep my sleeping habits the same (and not switch over time zones) and that I would operate in the same fashion. Hopefully it works.
Upon my return, I have two weeks of classes remaining, and then finals descend. It will be a time of high-stress and characteristic anxiety. I aim to "own" finals. I just need to get down to business.
I really needed this trip.
I have to hand it to my father. He is a man known for his inability to keep secrets from my mother. Perhaps this is why they have such a strong, lasting relationship that is becoming more rare as our society progresses throughout time. Maybe both my parents know just how bad a marriage can be, and as a Family Law Attorney and Marriage & Family Therapist they have the tools and intelligence to work through even the most rough times.
I really think my father is no good at staying quiet because my mom trained him well.
Regardless, somehow, for two and one-half months, my father kept my secret quiet. We are scheming men, but that made my visit home all-the-more fun for everybody.
My secret trip home for Thanksgiving could not have been better calendared - it was planned at a time where I needed familiar faces and places. You know, a place where everybody knows your name, and, most of the time, they are always glad you came.
I was in a bad place mentally, it seemed. I was losing all hope, and my ability to function was severely dampened. I do not think I could have waited another week for the trip home, but alas, we shall never know because I did, in fact, make it to California.
I was picked up at the airport by Sarah, and precariously called my father, as is custom, to let him know I landed safely. He did not pick up the phone, I presume, because the time difference (11:00PM Pacific Time = 2:00AM Eastern Time) would have set off alarms to my Mother. Smart man.
Again, keep in mind that the only family member who knew of my arrival was my father. My mother and siblings were unaware. In the weeks leading up to the surprise, I had been fantastically vague and elusive in all my communications, making my best effort to never lie.
Even upon my arrival, when I was less than 15 minutes from my brother's domicile, I was in the city, and when asked what I was up to, I replied that I was "in the city with some friends," or, when I was at the train station, I said "I am at the train station…". You know, the truth, packaged up nice and pretty so that everybody would think I was on the East Coast.
Anyhow, I got to the airport to fly to the West Coast more than two-and-a-half hours early. My roommate, who was kind enough to drive me from school to the airport, and I had expected plenty of traffic and long lines at the airport. We were wrong on both accounts. I had packed to carry my luggage onto the plane, but with such ease of checking the baggage, I figured "why not?" I should stop figuring, because this was to be a long, needless progression of debauchery and stupidity.
I leisurely walked to my gate, having all the time in the world to frolic willy-nilly about the concourse. I sat down knowing that law school would be put on hold, and that I could set my mind free. I looked down casually at my ticket stub and the ticket jacket in which it was neatly sitting. Cue the horror crescendo. Release the shrieks of terror!
I looked at the baggage claim sticker, and thought to myself "I am not Julie Cohen, and I am certainly not going to Seattle!" Well, I was going to California, but my baggage was taking a vacation to beautiful Washington. I quickly alerted the desk staff, who told me that they would work on it and get back to me. I was asked to return in about 30 minutes for a status update.
Upon returning, after having called my father to relay the dismal failure that is the airline system, they told me that my bag should be on my plane, and that no problems are foreseen. This was the first lie I was told by Delta, the airline that used to be of my favorite budget carriers.
I arrived in California - having ridden cross-country in a luxurious exit aisle seat with all the leg room a person of my 5-foot 5-inch stature can muster - and waited for my baggage. I waited. And waited. And then went to the missing baggage office. [It hits me that any industry that has an office that is dedicated to the company's relentless and abundant screw-ups says a lot about the industry.] I relayed to them my baggage tag conundrum, and was assured (with witnesses present) that my bags were not in Seattle "for sure". Lie two.
I then proceeded to spout off the following frustrated monologue: "You mean to tell me that instead of losing my baggage in the incompetent way that you should have lost my baggage, you instead lost my baggage in a way you shouldn't have lost my baggage, even though my baggage should not have been lost in the first place, and on top of all of this, you have no idea where my baggage is or how long it will take to get me the baggage that you shouldn't have lost and do not know where it is?"
Enter dumbfounded look on the face of the Delta staff member. Enter dumbfounded, but what I can only assume was a smug look on Sarah's face (who was my witness and my ride). Apply pernicious feelings and demeanor to me (that were the result of my frustration).
Did I mention that I was wearing the same suit that I had been wearing at the hearing I was at today (Tuesday, November 25)? Well, I was wearing a suit. I wanted a change of clothes, and I definitely wanted new underwear now.
Without exhausting the topic, I told them that I would not be home until Thursday, and that if my baggage came in before then I would need it delivered elsewhere. They took my phone number and told me that they would call before they delivered it so that I could tell them where to take it. Lie three. They called before, but could not change where they were delivering the baggage, so it took a lot of creativity on my father's part to conceal both the bag and the fact that it belonged to me.
The windup of the story is this: my bag did, in fact, end up in Seattle, as evidenced by Julie Cohen's baggage tag on my bag upon my receipt of the bag, and I had a lovely time speaking with Delta Representatives on the phone who told me that the only way they will reimburse me for any expenses (ie: a new pair of underwear or a toothbrush) was if I were going to a funeral. My first thought was to respond: "if I kill somebody, say a lost baggage representative from Delta, would that count?" I decided that would not go over well, and proceeded to explain/argue, as is my nature, the ins-and-outs of how an exception to a policy that is applied the same every time, is in fact a policy, and how treating one person differently because of a demographic is, in some civilized societies, referred to as prejudice "you know, like enslaving black people and not letting Jews own businesses." Prejudice? Bigotry? Hmmm.
Anyhow, I got shafted.
I somehow coordinated with my Father to meet he and my mother for breakfast on the morning of Thanksgiving. When one restaurant was closed, he had to relay to me a new meeting point - I never could figure out how he did this with my mom in the car with him. We finally got to one restaurant, and very stealthily, I sneaked up behind my mother.
I almost killed her.
Heart attack struck when she turned around - but not really. She was stunned, and was a mix of giddy and enthralled by me. I mean, really, who thinks they are going to see their son who has been encamped on the other side of the country when his visit was unplanned?
The rest of the visit did not go exactly as planned, though I am not complaining. I spent a lot of time with my family - more than I had anticipated - and was unable to see all the friends I had wanted. That was the only downside.
I had been worried that I would have such an enjoyable time that I would not want to go back to the East Coast, which would be a problem, or that I would realize how much I miss California and be even more homesick upon my return. Either way, I had not wanted to have that occur. I decided to keep my sleeping habits the same (and not switch over time zones) and that I would operate in the same fashion. Hopefully it works.
Upon my return, I have two weeks of classes remaining, and then finals descend. It will be a time of high-stress and characteristic anxiety. I aim to "own" finals. I just need to get down to business.
I really needed this trip.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Malfeasance, Incompetence and the Judge - November 20, 2007
Irresponsible malfeasance and blatant incompetence could not better describe the Judge today. I remember back to the good days of trying employment cases. The judge was mean. She was nasty. In fact, the Judge was downright not having it from me. Well, I tried a case in front of the same judge again. She was much worse this time.
A legal advocate can only build up the nastiness and abrasive nature of a judge to their client to a certain level. The experience is always poised to be very different, yet contain some of the characteristics as described.
Though Mr. Moneybags Employer has 5 stores and two companies, he did not bring legal counsel. He did not introduce any evidence, and all his testimony was hearsay and irrelevant. Of course, being a prudent counselor, I made the correct legal objections. My objections and the employer's inadmissible statement (under the law) did not matter to the Judge. After a few times, I stated a "standing objection" for the record, so that I could stop trying to, with futility, keep things off the record that did not belong.
He even referred to documents that we had not been able to see. I objected on the basis of authentication. The judge said, as is her style, "Mr. H, he has not offered anything into evidence. There is nothing to authenticate." I told her that he referred to documents, and, if he is able to refer to the documents and you are not entertaining a hearsay objection, that since it was on the record, I wished to authenticate the documents. She told me no. At least it is on the record.
After dealing with the illegitimate statement the employer made, where my head was spinning and Lindsay was restraining me from jumping over the table, it was my turn to put the employer on the hot-seat.
I always prepare my line of questioning, but somehow, never use it. I knew exactly what I wanted, and how I was going to get it. But, this time it was a bigger-than-normal challenge, because the judge was not upholding court rules whatsoever.
My objections during cross-examinations to the answers of the employer were just as useless as before. I think that, out of all my time thinking on my feet, presenting questions, being extremely analytical and putting on a performance, this was my shining moment.
There were many times which I was content (even though the Judge was a big Debby Downer), and, under the circumstances, things went relatively well. To verbalize my feelings, I told my client the following after the hearing was complete (and both statements are true) : "I feel VERY confident in the proceedings." I told Lindsay that "I feel abused and battered."
The cross examination of the employer included some elements of hilarity. I cannot share everything, but I can, however, share some of my favorite lines of questioning. As we proceed, please keep in mind the following: I was only able to elicit an answer of "no" once during the entire hearing. The judge had no basic respect for the law and rules of the court. Again, I made "narrative," "non-responsive" and other such objections that were all failed attempts at upholding my clients basic judicial rights. At one point, I even went so far as to say, "Yes or no. I am looking for a "yes" or "no" answer. It is true that… "Yes" or "no"? Of course, I did not get a "yes" or a "no". The judge would not do a thing about it. She said, "Mr. H, you asked the question, now let him answer." And sometimes, he would not even answer my question. I would have to state, I appreciate your response, but you did not answer MY question. I would then repeat. The hearing was a circus of shampoo directives. Wet. Wash. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
So, when I refer to "yes" or "no" as an answer, you can thank me for cutting out five-minutes of narrative response to my close-ended "yes or no" questions.
I asked the employer if he was the owner and president of the store for which my client worked.
Employer - "Yes," he replied. (Reminder: that answer was a long, drawn-out answer.)
Me - "So, you know what is going on in your company at all times, right?"
Now, it is important to mention that this is what is referred to as a "trap" question. Regardless of how the employer answers, we trap him in some way. For example, if he answered in the affirmative, my responding question would have been along the lines of "then how come you did not review the order before it was made?" or "Why did you let the problem fester for this long?" But alas, things are not that easy.
Of course, he did not answer "no," and somehow, I did not get a "yes" either. This guy was good at being non-responsive. But, the answer I received was classic.
Employer - "Well, I run two companies and one of those companies has five stores, so I do not know everything that goes on. If you want a number, I would say I know more than 90 percent of those things which occur."
Me - "So, a little less than 10 percent of the time, you have absolutely no idea what is going on?"
Employer - "That’s not what I meant. In this situation, I can tell you I know 100 percent of the things that occurred."
Me - "But, we cannot be absolutely positive that you know everything, right?
Employer - His response is unnecessary, long, and verbose. I got in what I wanted.
I then entered the realm of the chain-store's prehistory ordering/merchandising system; a system where they - I am not making this up - look at the shelves to see what they need to order. If an item is missing or running low, as they walk aisle-to-aisle they mark it down and order it.
Me - "Does your company have an advanced inventory system?"
Employer - "No."
Holy batflakes! I got my first, and only, "no". Praise the lord!
Me - "Does your company have a barcode inventory system?"
Employer - "No." Insert narrative again.
Me - "In fact, your company does not even have a basic, pen-and-pencil inventory system. Isn't that correct?"
Employer - "You cannot. I am not Walmart or a big store like that. We cannot afford a system like that! This isn't… It is not right to hold me to the same standards that you hold a big company. Because I am not a big company, it isn't fair, I shouldn’t be punished because I am smaller!"
Me - "Well, it is not fair to use those same standards, and punish my client either, now is it?
Ding. Ding. Ding. Man down!
Well into my line of questions, he was getting frustrated - a feeling I mirrored from his lack of actually answering my questions, an offshoot of the judges incompetence and unwillingness to uphold the law - and he turned to the judge and I and said the following about me:
"You use what I say against me. I did not mean it like that. You take things out of context and twist my words!"
That is what we in the field refer to as "validation". I turned to Lindsay and gave her a smile and nod. It is truly nice to have realized the true gift of lawyering. Everybody has it, but mine was validated.
There were definitely points of happiness. But more so, there were an abundance of frustrating times with this judge.
I was also charged with giving a closing argument, however, the employer was to proceed with his closing argument first.
His impassioned speech gave rise to an abundance of objections, including: assumes facts not in the record, unauthenticated evidence, loads of hearsay, relevance and so many more. Of course, that did not stop him from saying anything. He even said that "[My Client's] attorneys put on a brilliant theatrical production."
Validation again. Lindsay looked at me this time. Both nodded and definitely smiled big-time. He could not have made a worse attempt at trying to make us sound horrible. Go team!
I ended with my argument and we ended the hearing concluded. We walked out, and went our ways after chatting shortly. My father asked me how the client felt. My response is that no matter how much I prepped my client for the evil judge, until you experience it and know that she hates everybody equally, you are not going to feel good.
I told my client to go home and relax because there is no point on dwelling on the proceedings. The hearing is over, and the facts are on the record. I also told him I felt very confident that we did well.
We now await the judge's ruling. I am not holding my breath. One never can tell.
----
Below, for your enjoyment, is my closing argument. It must be very short and to the point (or the already upset judge become even more upset). Cheers!
--
(My client's name has been changed to oblige client privilege.)
May it please your honor,
TC worked for [the company] for 7 years. The evidence shows that he spent all seven years as a District Manager during which time he did not receive a single warning for any wrongdoing or misconduct. The facts of the case are clear: TC was a model employee who operated, for a significant part of a decade, in the best interest of the company.
There was no oversight in ordering, no evidence of misconduct and no evidence or documentation of a demotion. The is no evidence that is not hearsay. There was no company handbook. There were no company ordering guidelines. There was no merchandise inventory system. And, most of all, there is no evidence of any prior warnings.
Under the given circumstances, Mr. C CANNOT be guilty of misconduct. It simply is not justified. He was thoughtful, efficient and thorough in his duties.
Being released from employment was just the first of many injustices TC suffered. Give him what he deserves. The evidence and testimony leave no room for dispute: Mr. C is innocent of any misconduct. Find for the Claimant, TC , and award him unemployment benefits.
A legal advocate can only build up the nastiness and abrasive nature of a judge to their client to a certain level. The experience is always poised to be very different, yet contain some of the characteristics as described.
Though Mr. Moneybags Employer has 5 stores and two companies, he did not bring legal counsel. He did not introduce any evidence, and all his testimony was hearsay and irrelevant. Of course, being a prudent counselor, I made the correct legal objections. My objections and the employer's inadmissible statement (under the law) did not matter to the Judge. After a few times, I stated a "standing objection" for the record, so that I could stop trying to, with futility, keep things off the record that did not belong.
He even referred to documents that we had not been able to see. I objected on the basis of authentication. The judge said, as is her style, "Mr. H, he has not offered anything into evidence. There is nothing to authenticate." I told her that he referred to documents, and, if he is able to refer to the documents and you are not entertaining a hearsay objection, that since it was on the record, I wished to authenticate the documents. She told me no. At least it is on the record.
After dealing with the illegitimate statement the employer made, where my head was spinning and Lindsay was restraining me from jumping over the table, it was my turn to put the employer on the hot-seat.
I always prepare my line of questioning, but somehow, never use it. I knew exactly what I wanted, and how I was going to get it. But, this time it was a bigger-than-normal challenge, because the judge was not upholding court rules whatsoever.
My objections during cross-examinations to the answers of the employer were just as useless as before. I think that, out of all my time thinking on my feet, presenting questions, being extremely analytical and putting on a performance, this was my shining moment.
There were many times which I was content (even though the Judge was a big Debby Downer), and, under the circumstances, things went relatively well. To verbalize my feelings, I told my client the following after the hearing was complete (and both statements are true) : "I feel VERY confident in the proceedings." I told Lindsay that "I feel abused and battered."
The cross examination of the employer included some elements of hilarity. I cannot share everything, but I can, however, share some of my favorite lines of questioning. As we proceed, please keep in mind the following: I was only able to elicit an answer of "no" once during the entire hearing. The judge had no basic respect for the law and rules of the court. Again, I made "narrative," "non-responsive" and other such objections that were all failed attempts at upholding my clients basic judicial rights. At one point, I even went so far as to say, "Yes or no. I am looking for a "yes" or "no" answer. It is true that… "Yes" or "no"? Of course, I did not get a "yes" or a "no". The judge would not do a thing about it. She said, "Mr. H, you asked the question, now let him answer." And sometimes, he would not even answer my question. I would have to state, I appreciate your response, but you did not answer MY question. I would then repeat. The hearing was a circus of shampoo directives. Wet. Wash. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
So, when I refer to "yes" or "no" as an answer, you can thank me for cutting out five-minutes of narrative response to my close-ended "yes or no" questions.
I asked the employer if he was the owner and president of the store for which my client worked.
Employer - "Yes," he replied. (Reminder: that answer was a long, drawn-out answer.)
Me - "So, you know what is going on in your company at all times, right?"
Now, it is important to mention that this is what is referred to as a "trap" question. Regardless of how the employer answers, we trap him in some way. For example, if he answered in the affirmative, my responding question would have been along the lines of "then how come you did not review the order before it was made?" or "Why did you let the problem fester for this long?" But alas, things are not that easy.
Of course, he did not answer "no," and somehow, I did not get a "yes" either. This guy was good at being non-responsive. But, the answer I received was classic.
Employer - "Well, I run two companies and one of those companies has five stores, so I do not know everything that goes on. If you want a number, I would say I know more than 90 percent of those things which occur."
Me - "So, a little less than 10 percent of the time, you have absolutely no idea what is going on?"
Employer - "That’s not what I meant. In this situation, I can tell you I know 100 percent of the things that occurred."
Me - "But, we cannot be absolutely positive that you know everything, right?
Employer - His response is unnecessary, long, and verbose. I got in what I wanted.
I then entered the realm of the chain-store's prehistory ordering/merchandising system; a system where they - I am not making this up - look at the shelves to see what they need to order. If an item is missing or running low, as they walk aisle-to-aisle they mark it down and order it.
Me - "Does your company have an advanced inventory system?"
Employer - "No."
Holy batflakes! I got my first, and only, "no". Praise the lord!
Me - "Does your company have a barcode inventory system?"
Employer - "No." Insert narrative again.
Me - "In fact, your company does not even have a basic, pen-and-pencil inventory system. Isn't that correct?"
Employer - "You cannot. I am not Walmart or a big store like that. We cannot afford a system like that! This isn't… It is not right to hold me to the same standards that you hold a big company. Because I am not a big company, it isn't fair, I shouldn’t be punished because I am smaller!"
Me - "Well, it is not fair to use those same standards, and punish my client either, now is it?
Ding. Ding. Ding. Man down!
Well into my line of questions, he was getting frustrated - a feeling I mirrored from his lack of actually answering my questions, an offshoot of the judges incompetence and unwillingness to uphold the law - and he turned to the judge and I and said the following about me:
"You use what I say against me. I did not mean it like that. You take things out of context and twist my words!"
That is what we in the field refer to as "validation". I turned to Lindsay and gave her a smile and nod. It is truly nice to have realized the true gift of lawyering. Everybody has it, but mine was validated.
There were definitely points of happiness. But more so, there were an abundance of frustrating times with this judge.
I was also charged with giving a closing argument, however, the employer was to proceed with his closing argument first.
His impassioned speech gave rise to an abundance of objections, including: assumes facts not in the record, unauthenticated evidence, loads of hearsay, relevance and so many more. Of course, that did not stop him from saying anything. He even said that "[My Client's] attorneys put on a brilliant theatrical production."
Validation again. Lindsay looked at me this time. Both nodded and definitely smiled big-time. He could not have made a worse attempt at trying to make us sound horrible. Go team!
I ended with my argument and we ended the hearing concluded. We walked out, and went our ways after chatting shortly. My father asked me how the client felt. My response is that no matter how much I prepped my client for the evil judge, until you experience it and know that she hates everybody equally, you are not going to feel good.
I told my client to go home and relax because there is no point on dwelling on the proceedings. The hearing is over, and the facts are on the record. I also told him I felt very confident that we did well.
We now await the judge's ruling. I am not holding my breath. One never can tell.
----
Below, for your enjoyment, is my closing argument. It must be very short and to the point (or the already upset judge become even more upset). Cheers!
--
(My client's name has been changed to oblige client privilege.)
May it please your honor,
TC worked for [the company] for 7 years. The evidence shows that he spent all seven years as a District Manager during which time he did not receive a single warning for any wrongdoing or misconduct. The facts of the case are clear: TC was a model employee who operated, for a significant part of a decade, in the best interest of the company.
There was no oversight in ordering, no evidence of misconduct and no evidence or documentation of a demotion. The is no evidence that is not hearsay. There was no company handbook. There were no company ordering guidelines. There was no merchandise inventory system. And, most of all, there is no evidence of any prior warnings.
Under the given circumstances, Mr. C CANNOT be guilty of misconduct. It simply is not justified. He was thoughtful, efficient and thorough in his duties.
Being released from employment was just the first of many injustices TC suffered. Give him what he deserves. The evidence and testimony leave no room for dispute: Mr. C is innocent of any misconduct. Find for the Claimant, TC , and award him unemployment benefits.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Closing (In On) Time - November 19, 2007
Paper complete! Client briefed and prepped. Life… still decent.
I finally turned into my life-sucking legal writing paper. It was the final assignment for the class, and I feel very confident this time around. In undergrad I had a gift - when I handed in a paper, I always, without fail, was able to foresee what grade I would get, down to the plus or minus.
In law school, there is no chance at guessing your grade. You think you know if you did well, but being wrong has become a past-time for me and my peers.
I am happy to be done with one class. I, however, have four more to complete.
I met with my client today. Lindsay and I got him ready for our hearing which occurs in front of my favorite judge tomorrow. I know how she works, so this time should be better for all persons involved (but, especially me). Lindsay is handling the direct examination of our client and the opening statement. I get to have my fun, and cross-examine the opposing party and give the closing argument.
I am excited, as always, for a chance to perform.
Stay tuned, folks!
I am anxious for the start of the Thanksgiving holiday. I need a break from studies for a day or so, and relaxation is at a premium.
I had contracts and torts today. Mondays are always a sad day. Hopefully I can pick up some knowledge in my studying for finals, and be ready to rock my professor's grading world.
Oh Monday.
I finally turned into my life-sucking legal writing paper. It was the final assignment for the class, and I feel very confident this time around. In undergrad I had a gift - when I handed in a paper, I always, without fail, was able to foresee what grade I would get, down to the plus or minus.
In law school, there is no chance at guessing your grade. You think you know if you did well, but being wrong has become a past-time for me and my peers.
I am happy to be done with one class. I, however, have four more to complete.
I met with my client today. Lindsay and I got him ready for our hearing which occurs in front of my favorite judge tomorrow. I know how she works, so this time should be better for all persons involved (but, especially me). Lindsay is handling the direct examination of our client and the opening statement. I get to have my fun, and cross-examine the opposing party and give the closing argument.
I am excited, as always, for a chance to perform.
Stay tuned, folks!
I am anxious for the start of the Thanksgiving holiday. I need a break from studies for a day or so, and relaxation is at a premium.
I had contracts and torts today. Mondays are always a sad day. Hopefully I can pick up some knowledge in my studying for finals, and be ready to rock my professor's grading world.
Oh Monday.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Where Did My Friday Go? - November 16, 2007
Friday was relatively boring. I woke up, took a shower - as if you needed to know - and sat down at 11:00AM at my desk to work on my Legal Writing paper that is due Monday. The next move was to look at the clock. 7:32PM showed its hands, as if to mock me and my over-aggressive work habits. Good lord! Heck, even bad lord! Where did my day go? I had not eaten, had a drink or looked up at my computer. It was bright outside earlier, but now is dark. What am I doing?
One of my friends was having a birthday-ish party. I had RSVP'd as a "maybe", as there were people who might have been going that I definitely did not see (which at some points is just about everybody). I had been hesitant, but was begged and pleaded with to attend. The shindig started at 9:00PM, but I was going to be late.
The invite stated that the event was to be "formal" wear, though that was not going to happen. The greatest length I was willing to go to "dress up" was to put on a pair of shoes for the night. The sandals came off begrudgingly to make my friend happy, and to stand in place of something nicer. Dressing like a bum has its positive moments.
The party was decently good. The bar was dandy - the girls even got me dancing.
And boy, do I have stories about the next morning - and day!
One of my friends was having a birthday-ish party. I had RSVP'd as a "maybe", as there were people who might have been going that I definitely did not see (which at some points is just about everybody). I had been hesitant, but was begged and pleaded with to attend. The shindig started at 9:00PM, but I was going to be late.
The invite stated that the event was to be "formal" wear, though that was not going to happen. The greatest length I was willing to go to "dress up" was to put on a pair of shoes for the night. The sandals came off begrudgingly to make my friend happy, and to stand in place of something nicer. Dressing like a bum has its positive moments.
The party was decently good. The bar was dandy - the girls even got me dancing.
And boy, do I have stories about the next morning - and day!
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Easy Like Thursday (Morning?) - November 15, 2007
Usually Thursday yields two-hours of excruciating criminal law and a dose of civil procedure. My criminal law professor canceled class today, so all I had to tend to was civil procedure which was a welcome relief. This also meant that my entire morning was free. In fact, other than scheduling a meeting with my newest client, I could have slept until 2:00PM; I did not have class until 2:40. Easy, breezy!
For a reason I do not know, my professor loves to choose me to take part in all his interactive examples. I do not mind being theatrical, but, in civpro, I am not given a script. I often do not know where he is going with the examples or what it is he wants me to say.
Today, we were talking about illusory promises. Basically, an illusory promise is a promise or contract which states no specific details. For example:
"Let me show you what I mean," said the Professor. "Let's use… ahhhh! Mr. H!"
"Oh gosh," I said to Michelle and Megan seated next to me. They both giggled at my luck and soon-to-be degradation.
"Mr. H, I want to buy your computer," the Professor said.
"Uhhhh. O. K?" I replied.
"Do we have a contract now?" Professor D asked the class.
"Yeah. Yes. I believe. Grumble, grumble, grumble. Grumble?" was the majority of the responses received in answer to his question (which I thought was rhetorical - but hey, who am I?)
"Mr. H, here is five dollars. Let me have your computer," he said with a smug grin.
"Um, no? Dream on." I told him.
"But we have a contract. You said you would sell your computer to me, and I am giving you five dollars." he said.
"Class, does Mr. H have to sell me the computer?" D asked.
This is where Megan poked me and laughed. All these jokesters in class. They came up with a yes. But then, from the depths of the row in front of me came a meek "No."
"No!" the Professor said exuberantly. "That is an illusory promise!"
Now, what was a guy to do? I never know where he is going with his examples. I never know how to react or what to say. I did, however, know that there was no way in the world I was going to give him my computer. At the very least, I wanted to copy my files over.
I also had a meeting with my newest client today. We had the chance to interview him and get the entire story. Actually, we had the chance to get whatever story he wanted to relay to us. As I have realized: everybody lies, nobody tells the full truth. But, here was to hoping that he would tell all.
The case is going to be a crap-shoot. The employer is the owner of a multi-store dollar store chain. He is almost certainly going to employ legal counsel. I want to have the experience of going up against a competent adversary. Hopefully this case will yield these results.
My client, was released from his job as a District Manager after seven years of unfettered service to the company. He never received a warning or reprimand on the job, was always diligent and never had any problems. He was fired for making an order that was "too large" in the eyes of his boss. Oh yes, it is that simple. I am sure I will write more about it later, but he is a really nice, down-to-earth and very respectful man. Working for him will be a joy. I think.
Later, I was engrossed in the Democratic Presidential debate. It was exciting, well-planned, superbly executed and easily entertaining. Congratulations to the organizers and Wolf Blitzer, the moderator. I could not turn away from the television. It was even on my mind for days after. I get sad when presidential primary debates excite me. I am dead on the inside.
In other news, I intend to sleep-in tomorrow morning. Hallelujah!
For a reason I do not know, my professor loves to choose me to take part in all his interactive examples. I do not mind being theatrical, but, in civpro, I am not given a script. I often do not know where he is going with the examples or what it is he wants me to say.
Today, we were talking about illusory promises. Basically, an illusory promise is a promise or contract which states no specific details. For example:
"Let me show you what I mean," said the Professor. "Let's use… ahhhh! Mr. H!"
"Oh gosh," I said to Michelle and Megan seated next to me. They both giggled at my luck and soon-to-be degradation.
"Mr. H, I want to buy your computer," the Professor said.
"Uhhhh. O. K?" I replied.
"Do we have a contract now?" Professor D asked the class.
"Yeah. Yes. I believe. Grumble, grumble, grumble. Grumble?" was the majority of the responses received in answer to his question (which I thought was rhetorical - but hey, who am I?)
"Mr. H, here is five dollars. Let me have your computer," he said with a smug grin.
"Um, no? Dream on." I told him.
"But we have a contract. You said you would sell your computer to me, and I am giving you five dollars." he said.
"Class, does Mr. H have to sell me the computer?" D asked.
This is where Megan poked me and laughed. All these jokesters in class. They came up with a yes. But then, from the depths of the row in front of me came a meek "No."
"No!" the Professor said exuberantly. "That is an illusory promise!"
Now, what was a guy to do? I never know where he is going with his examples. I never know how to react or what to say. I did, however, know that there was no way in the world I was going to give him my computer. At the very least, I wanted to copy my files over.
I also had a meeting with my newest client today. We had the chance to interview him and get the entire story. Actually, we had the chance to get whatever story he wanted to relay to us. As I have realized: everybody lies, nobody tells the full truth. But, here was to hoping that he would tell all.
The case is going to be a crap-shoot. The employer is the owner of a multi-store dollar store chain. He is almost certainly going to employ legal counsel. I want to have the experience of going up against a competent adversary. Hopefully this case will yield these results.
My client, was released from his job as a District Manager after seven years of unfettered service to the company. He never received a warning or reprimand on the job, was always diligent and never had any problems. He was fired for making an order that was "too large" in the eyes of his boss. Oh yes, it is that simple. I am sure I will write more about it later, but he is a really nice, down-to-earth and very respectful man. Working for him will be a joy. I think.
Later, I was engrossed in the Democratic Presidential debate. It was exciting, well-planned, superbly executed and easily entertaining. Congratulations to the organizers and Wolf Blitzer, the moderator. I could not turn away from the television. It was even on my mind for days after. I get sad when presidential primary debates excite me. I am dead on the inside.
In other news, I intend to sleep-in tomorrow morning. Hallelujah!
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Another Day, Another Client - November 14, 2007
Oh what a day. Class after class (after one more class) is the way these days go. From early-morning contracts - where my professor definitely exhibited his inability to match his bow-tie to the rest of his clothing - to a raucous criminal law class - where my favorite person who feels the need to talk in every single class in an incessant and overtly annoying manner was proved incorrect twice - I was off to torts.
I giggled throughout class upon learning that the professor (Professor Walker) had been nicknamed "Walker, Torts Ranger" by some of my brilliant peers. After torts concluded, I was sequestered in the same room for a mandatory, as are all things annoying in law school, training and installation of test-taking software for finals. What should have taken 10 minutes turned into a one-hour circus of installation and practicing. I am overjoyed that I am given the opportunity to take all my finals on the computer, but it has created a number of over-burdensome tasks and needs. Go technology!
My unemployment case has become very much an interesting adventure. Without divulging any privileged information, I have been educated on a very real occurrence in the law. Nelson and I were given a very edgy situation which presented the opportunity for us to measure - and later set - our ethical boundaries. By continuing our representation of our client, given the circumstances involved, we would have been treading the boundaries of aiding a crime and crossing the line of ethics. Our dilemma was propounded by information from our client twice, and I could only justify continued representation after the first instance was revealed.
We feel that if we cross ethical lines now, as law students and pro-bono representatives, we will be at risk when we pass the Bar Exam and are being paid to represent people. I want the boundaries to remain clear.
Inasmuch as our former client is now without representation, I maintain the position that a client must reveal everything to their counsel. If there is information that your representative does not know, you can be sure that they will be blind-sided at trial.
I had already taken on a second client with my roommate, Lindsay. I was poised to try two cases in one day. I wanted to experience the life of a trial attorney, and the pressure that they feel. I will not, however, have this chance next Tuesday. The case we are trying is much more solid, and an all around good Claimants case. Plus, the Claimant (our client) is a very nice, very down-to-earth man; this will make representing him all the much more fulfilling . We do, however, have the same mean Judge again. At least, this time, I know exactly how to handle her.
The chance that the employer will have representation (read: an attorney) is much more likely than previous cases. The company is a large chain store (that is very recognizable) with many stores. Plus, the level of benefits at stake is much higher than a normal employee because our client held a decently high management position. I am very much excited. Plus, this give Lindsay and I a chance to bond more and we get to see what we are each made of. Should be a great competition between us to perform at a very high level. Lindsay has the employment law background where as I have the trial and performance based background. I will, again, be performing the cross-examination of the employer and the closing. There is nothing I like more than a cross-examination.
I cannot get my hands on enough real-life practice. Whenever I question my decision to go to law school, two things renew my interest and love for the field. The first is a phone conversation about a legal issue with my father. The second is arguing, discussing, trying and proceeding with a real case through the Unemployment Action Center. I love every minute of my preparation and enjoy trying the case even more. And, surprisingly, I am really liking employment law, but not more than criminal law. Phew!
Criminal law is canceled for tomorrow, which is good news. I can relax a little. Back I go to adjusting my legal writing paper. It is the final assignment, and I am definitely planning on turning in a masterpiece. Plus, my professor is expecting no less from me.
-----
Torts Professor Quote of the Month - "There are things so dumb that even a jury can figure it out for themselves."
I giggled throughout class upon learning that the professor (Professor Walker) had been nicknamed "Walker, Torts Ranger" by some of my brilliant peers. After torts concluded, I was sequestered in the same room for a mandatory, as are all things annoying in law school, training and installation of test-taking software for finals. What should have taken 10 minutes turned into a one-hour circus of installation and practicing. I am overjoyed that I am given the opportunity to take all my finals on the computer, but it has created a number of over-burdensome tasks and needs. Go technology!
My unemployment case has become very much an interesting adventure. Without divulging any privileged information, I have been educated on a very real occurrence in the law. Nelson and I were given a very edgy situation which presented the opportunity for us to measure - and later set - our ethical boundaries. By continuing our representation of our client, given the circumstances involved, we would have been treading the boundaries of aiding a crime and crossing the line of ethics. Our dilemma was propounded by information from our client twice, and I could only justify continued representation after the first instance was revealed.
We feel that if we cross ethical lines now, as law students and pro-bono representatives, we will be at risk when we pass the Bar Exam and are being paid to represent people. I want the boundaries to remain clear.
Inasmuch as our former client is now without representation, I maintain the position that a client must reveal everything to their counsel. If there is information that your representative does not know, you can be sure that they will be blind-sided at trial.
I had already taken on a second client with my roommate, Lindsay. I was poised to try two cases in one day. I wanted to experience the life of a trial attorney, and the pressure that they feel. I will not, however, have this chance next Tuesday. The case we are trying is much more solid, and an all around good Claimants case. Plus, the Claimant (our client) is a very nice, very down-to-earth man; this will make representing him all the much more fulfilling . We do, however, have the same mean Judge again. At least, this time, I know exactly how to handle her.
The chance that the employer will have representation (read: an attorney) is much more likely than previous cases. The company is a large chain store (that is very recognizable) with many stores. Plus, the level of benefits at stake is much higher than a normal employee because our client held a decently high management position. I am very much excited. Plus, this give Lindsay and I a chance to bond more and we get to see what we are each made of. Should be a great competition between us to perform at a very high level. Lindsay has the employment law background where as I have the trial and performance based background. I will, again, be performing the cross-examination of the employer and the closing. There is nothing I like more than a cross-examination.
I cannot get my hands on enough real-life practice. Whenever I question my decision to go to law school, two things renew my interest and love for the field. The first is a phone conversation about a legal issue with my father. The second is arguing, discussing, trying and proceeding with a real case through the Unemployment Action Center. I love every minute of my preparation and enjoy trying the case even more. And, surprisingly, I am really liking employment law, but not more than criminal law. Phew!
Criminal law is canceled for tomorrow, which is good news. I can relax a little. Back I go to adjusting my legal writing paper. It is the final assignment, and I am definitely planning on turning in a masterpiece. Plus, my professor is expecting no less from me.
-----
Torts Professor Quote of the Month - "There are things so dumb that even a jury can figure it out for themselves."
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
And the Beat Goes On - November 12-13, 2007
Well... Veteran's Day is apparently not important enough to yield a day off from school.
I woke up at the obligatory 6:30AM. I hit the alarm, and went back to sleep until 6:35. I woke up and hit the alarm. This process repeated itself every five minutes until 8:00AM. This has become the way things are for me. Every morning is a new challenge. Everyday a mountain peak I force myself to climb. These mountains, however, are uphill both ways. My grandparents finally make sense, especially because snow is imminent.
My sandals are still on my feet. This is a noticeable event in the lives of my New York colleagues. Many have mentioned the sandal-wearing habits I have been modeling. I refuse to take the next step (that was a pun) into detaching myself from my delusions. I am mentally on the West Coast still. This New York living is not working out well.
For now, the sandals stay.
I attended the Dean's Lunch, a gathering for an hour where students are given the opportunity to put the Dean of the law school in the hot seat. Did I mention they provide a free lunch. I showed up, but, as luck would have it, the Dean was a no-show. An Assistant Dean came in her place. Things just were not the same.
Contracts continues to leave a fog of war clouding my ability to understand. I have been wounded in the battle for knowledge. I trudge on with a bad limp. Hopefully I will be able to pull myself together when studying begins. Perhaps this is why the Almighty gave us Thanksgiving.
Torts has become no better for me. What is a boy to do?
These two classes are hazy, at best, and a black-hole of destruction in astronomical terms. However, I shall persevere. I know no other way to survive.
Then came Tuesday.
Legal writing is over for the remainder of the semester, because, as our professor said, the class is front-loaded. We have a lot of class in the beginning of the semester, and no class at the end. I had a conference with my professor, as do all students in the class, on Monday. My final paper is due next Monday. I have set my sights on attaining the top grade possible, which is definitely not out of reach for me. And let us pray.
In addition, Nelson and I were afforded the opportunity to meet with our fourth client, though it was only the second of the four to actually use our services. Our case is definitely not as winnable as our last, but we can definitely win. We are a darn good team, so I have faith in our abilities.
Civil procedure, which occurred later in the day, is becoming very boring. I feel as if I either know how one is to proceed in a civil suit, or that the procedure is obvious. Hopefully my civil procedure success will continue.
Tomorrow is my long, dreary day.
Why do I do this to myself?
--
CivPro Professor quoting somebody else quote of the week:
"Oral contracts aren't worth the paper they are written on."
I woke up at the obligatory 6:30AM. I hit the alarm, and went back to sleep until 6:35. I woke up and hit the alarm. This process repeated itself every five minutes until 8:00AM. This has become the way things are for me. Every morning is a new challenge. Everyday a mountain peak I force myself to climb. These mountains, however, are uphill both ways. My grandparents finally make sense, especially because snow is imminent.
My sandals are still on my feet. This is a noticeable event in the lives of my New York colleagues. Many have mentioned the sandal-wearing habits I have been modeling. I refuse to take the next step (that was a pun) into detaching myself from my delusions. I am mentally on the West Coast still. This New York living is not working out well.
For now, the sandals stay.
I attended the Dean's Lunch, a gathering for an hour where students are given the opportunity to put the Dean of the law school in the hot seat. Did I mention they provide a free lunch. I showed up, but, as luck would have it, the Dean was a no-show. An Assistant Dean came in her place. Things just were not the same.
Contracts continues to leave a fog of war clouding my ability to understand. I have been wounded in the battle for knowledge. I trudge on with a bad limp. Hopefully I will be able to pull myself together when studying begins. Perhaps this is why the Almighty gave us Thanksgiving.
Torts has become no better for me. What is a boy to do?
These two classes are hazy, at best, and a black-hole of destruction in astronomical terms. However, I shall persevere. I know no other way to survive.
Then came Tuesday.
Legal writing is over for the remainder of the semester, because, as our professor said, the class is front-loaded. We have a lot of class in the beginning of the semester, and no class at the end. I had a conference with my professor, as do all students in the class, on Monday. My final paper is due next Monday. I have set my sights on attaining the top grade possible, which is definitely not out of reach for me. And let us pray.
In addition, Nelson and I were afforded the opportunity to meet with our fourth client, though it was only the second of the four to actually use our services. Our case is definitely not as winnable as our last, but we can definitely win. We are a darn good team, so I have faith in our abilities.
Civil procedure, which occurred later in the day, is becoming very boring. I feel as if I either know how one is to proceed in a civil suit, or that the procedure is obvious. Hopefully my civil procedure success will continue.
Tomorrow is my long, dreary day.
Why do I do this to myself?
--
CivPro Professor quoting somebody else quote of the week:
"Oral contracts aren't worth the paper they are written on."
Friday, November 9, 2007
The Good Turns Bad - November 9, 2007
I had a great week. I was not stressed or anxious from Monday morning through Thursday-ish.
Thursday morning yielded a meeting with a career counselor. I had no choice but to attend because the law school has requirements, and meeting with the Office of Career Services (OCS) is one. The law school has some of the most outrageous requirements; some of these necessities range from "waste of time" to "plain stupid". I am but a pundit pawn in the game of requisite advancement to graduation. Somewhere on this list - between meeting with a career counselor and law school orientation - is a class in Transnational Law during the spring semester of the first year. Who knows why?
Anyhow, back to my Thursday morning meeting with the career counselor. I walked into her office and sat down. She ask me a list of things, trying to gauge what she needed to tell me. To all but one item on the list I answered in the affirmative. She looked at me and said, "Why is it you are here?"
I told her that I was there because of the blasted requirement.
I did, however, want her to look over my first-ever cover letter. I figured I may as well make the wasted time useful. She looked it over and made one suggestion and said, "OK. Anything else?"
"Yes," I answered. "Can you look at my resume?"
"Of course," she said.
I handed her the resume. She looked at me, looked down at the first page, and then glanced back down at the resume. She asked me if I ever slept. I told her that sleeping gets in the way of my life, so I try not to.
She then flipped to the second page and said, "You really never sleep. Is there anything you haven't done?"
I just giggled. What does one say in response to a career counselor who makes a comment like that?
Anyhow, I walked out of the meeting jazzed about life and my future as a legal professional.
Dim the lights, cue the dramatic symphonic overture. Enter the evil villain "Death of Happiness".
The rest of the day was mired in depression and sadness. I felt absolutely horrible as I reached an all new low in emotion and will to survive.
Though Friday was a little better, I will not soon recuperate from my latest fall into the bowels of sadness. I am really not liking New York.
The people, the weather, the school, and the distance is chipping away at my ability to succeed. But, it is mostly the people.
I have not wanted to spend any time with any of the "friends" I have made, because they are all disappointing in their very own, very special ways. I definitely feel like an insider on the outside.
I spent Friday secluded from the world. It is the happiest time I have. Very sad.
And, scene.
Yes. That is life.
Thursday morning yielded a meeting with a career counselor. I had no choice but to attend because the law school has requirements, and meeting with the Office of Career Services (OCS) is one. The law school has some of the most outrageous requirements; some of these necessities range from "waste of time" to "plain stupid". I am but a pundit pawn in the game of requisite advancement to graduation. Somewhere on this list - between meeting with a career counselor and law school orientation - is a class in Transnational Law during the spring semester of the first year. Who knows why?
Anyhow, back to my Thursday morning meeting with the career counselor. I walked into her office and sat down. She ask me a list of things, trying to gauge what she needed to tell me. To all but one item on the list I answered in the affirmative. She looked at me and said, "Why is it you are here?"
I told her that I was there because of the blasted requirement.
I did, however, want her to look over my first-ever cover letter. I figured I may as well make the wasted time useful. She looked it over and made one suggestion and said, "OK. Anything else?"
"Yes," I answered. "Can you look at my resume?"
"Of course," she said.
I handed her the resume. She looked at me, looked down at the first page, and then glanced back down at the resume. She asked me if I ever slept. I told her that sleeping gets in the way of my life, so I try not to.
She then flipped to the second page and said, "You really never sleep. Is there anything you haven't done?"
I just giggled. What does one say in response to a career counselor who makes a comment like that?
Anyhow, I walked out of the meeting jazzed about life and my future as a legal professional.
Dim the lights, cue the dramatic symphonic overture. Enter the evil villain "Death of Happiness".
The rest of the day was mired in depression and sadness. I felt absolutely horrible as I reached an all new low in emotion and will to survive.
Though Friday was a little better, I will not soon recuperate from my latest fall into the bowels of sadness. I am really not liking New York.
The people, the weather, the school, and the distance is chipping away at my ability to succeed. But, it is mostly the people.
I have not wanted to spend any time with any of the "friends" I have made, because they are all disappointing in their very own, very special ways. I definitely feel like an insider on the outside.
I spent Friday secluded from the world. It is the happiest time I have. Very sad.
And, scene.
Yes. That is life.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
People I Hate, Part One of a Very Very Long Series - November 7, 2007
There have been annoyances from which (or shall I say whom) I have tried my best to steer clear. These people have made it impossible to disregard and carry out my daily life. They are incessantly and unabashedly nerve-grinding, limit-testing pains-in-the-butt.
These are the people who think that they have a personal red-phone to the professor forgetting that there are 120 other people in class. They do not think before they talk, they have a slight - read: not slight - ego, and, to steal a line from my favorite movie, the "think their [poop] smells sweeter than everybody else."
Meet J, a boy we have given nicknames including "The Picketer", "Mr. Rally" and "If He Talks Again I am Going To Throw My Book. Well, the last one was what a majority of people can be heard saying when he raises his hand or stands up in front of class to make an announcement. Nickname? You can be the judge of that.
He is well known for shenanigans that compliment the theory that he is missing a gene or some chemical in his brain. One such example, prior to today, was his attempt to give our professor a history of illegal farm workers in the United States. It was clear that the professor did not want to hear it, and noticeable that none of us wanted to hear it. What student attempts to teach a professor something that is only vaguely related but has no bearing on or any place being discussed during a lecture? He does. And, he does not learn his lesson.
Today he attempted to tell my criminal law professor that she neglected to discuss an element of the subject we were discussing - attempt - and proceeded to explain to her what the element was an dhow it worked. She tells it like it is. She is one of my more favorite professors as a result of this mentality. She told him that she teaches the way she wanted, that she knows the law, and that we will be covering it later. Then she looked up at the class and told us, yet again, not to waste class time with personal issues. Basically, she does not care.
Criminal law professor: this glorious day is dedicated to you.
Other than that, today was actually uneventful. How could the supposed worst day of the week be without a bump in the road, or, at least, a bug on the windshield? Who knows.
Luckily, this means that sleep will occur without a problem, and I will be well-rested for Thursday. This means good things.
The calm before the storm is exhilarating. I cannot get enough.
These are the people who think that they have a personal red-phone to the professor forgetting that there are 120 other people in class. They do not think before they talk, they have a slight - read: not slight - ego, and, to steal a line from my favorite movie, the "think their [poop] smells sweeter than everybody else."
Meet J, a boy we have given nicknames including "The Picketer", "Mr. Rally" and "If He Talks Again I am Going To Throw My Book. Well, the last one was what a majority of people can be heard saying when he raises his hand or stands up in front of class to make an announcement. Nickname? You can be the judge of that.
He is well known for shenanigans that compliment the theory that he is missing a gene or some chemical in his brain. One such example, prior to today, was his attempt to give our professor a history of illegal farm workers in the United States. It was clear that the professor did not want to hear it, and noticeable that none of us wanted to hear it. What student attempts to teach a professor something that is only vaguely related but has no bearing on or any place being discussed during a lecture? He does. And, he does not learn his lesson.
Today he attempted to tell my criminal law professor that she neglected to discuss an element of the subject we were discussing - attempt - and proceeded to explain to her what the element was an dhow it worked. She tells it like it is. She is one of my more favorite professors as a result of this mentality. She told him that she teaches the way she wanted, that she knows the law, and that we will be covering it later. Then she looked up at the class and told us, yet again, not to waste class time with personal issues. Basically, she does not care.
Criminal law professor: this glorious day is dedicated to you.
Other than that, today was actually uneventful. How could the supposed worst day of the week be without a bump in the road, or, at least, a bug on the windshield? Who knows.
Luckily, this means that sleep will occur without a problem, and I will be well-rested for Thursday. This means good things.
The calm before the storm is exhilarating. I cannot get enough.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
A Taxing Day - November 6, 2007
As a person who cringes at the thought of having anything to do with numbers or any governmental agency that is responsible for deflating the impact my paychecks have on my ability to successfully pay my rent, tax law could not be any more repulsive to me than a leper is to a small community.
Upon reading the faculty candidate's curriculum vitae, I realized that my excitement to be a part of a process that would have a profound impact on the law school was, more appropriately, a superficial smokescreen that hid potential regret. The man who was to be the center of attention was, what seemed, a scholar of sorts in the area of tax law- not to mention an impressive participant in politics. Aside from his White House internship, I became thoroughly disinterested in the candidate before I met him solely based on his choice of legal field.
I am ecstatic to learn that tax attorneys are not boring and geeky people, contrary to my beliefs. As a person who usually relegates the title of "Future Tax Attorney" to people who I could not see practicing law inside a courtroom (because of their lack of presence and shy demeanors) I became convinced that Tax law could actually be fun. This is an accomplishment deserving recognition.
Joshua Blank was engaging, fun, enthusiastic and very much qualified. He is the type of person from whom I would treasure the opportunity to learn - even if the subject is tax law. He had the student panel, in its entirety, wanting to sign up for his class, and we only talked with him for a 30-minute period. He described using real and imaginative examples that were fun and illustrative to get the point across to his students. He described one such example using Willie Nelson in his lectures as an Assistant Professor at NYU Law School. I figure that any man who can make me laugh, use Willie Nelson and have me understand the drawbacks of the IRS attempting to shame people publicly in the course of three-minutes is definitely quality Law Professor material.
I want to get the most diverse education I can in law school by taking classes in as many different areas as possible. Criminal law, civil law, constitutional law, corporate law, family law, international law and sports law are among the areas to which I want to be exposed. It was not until Joshua Blank spoke to me for 30 minutes that tax law made its way onto the list; it shall remain there if he joins the faculty of the law school.
Making an outstanding impression on me spells success on many different levels. I am outspoken, harsh, pessimistic and I have a very high set of standards that are difficult to meet. I was very much impressed with Mr. Blank, and I certainly hope that the Law School recognizes his potential to contribute to the success of the program and grow the minds of the students lucky enough to learn from him.
I was also granted the opportunity to spend time meeting with my professor. Most law professors are unable to hand out legal advice because of their role at the law school and what I assume could amount to some level of liability for the professor and the law school.
I had scheduled a time to meet with him a week-or-so ago. Lindsay and I had believed that the previously mentioned oil company who attempted to defraud us using bait-and-switch techniques were just ignoring us, hoping we would just go away. After a month had lapsed, we received a letter from their legal counsel yesterday. The letter contained nothing that we did not expect them to deny, but made a few assertions which we believe will haunt them when our impending trial commences.
Anyhow, receiving the letter the day before the scheduled meeting was great timing for us.
I walked into the Civil Procedure Professor's office (after having left the faculty interview) and sat down. It is poignant to note that the professor is the chairman of the faculty hiring committee; it puts me in a great position. We made some small talk, and then got down to business. I told him that I know his limitations as a faculty member, and that I wished to get his advice and feedback about a "hypothetical" case. He laughed, and we continued.
He applauded what we had done to this point, and agreed with our legal assertions. We do, in fact, have a case according to a legal expert. Score another point of validation. He made the same suggestions as my father made just last night (that is a point of validation for him, even though he does not need it). We will be sending a lengthy letter to their legal counsel letting him know that we cannot be dissuaded from pursuing damages. [On a related side-note: I did a second of research on the Oil Company's attorney of record. It turns out that civil litigation is far from his expertise. The sum total of his practice is employment law (which I happen to know a little about at this point).]
My professor told me that he not only suggests that perhaps we drop his name and title into the next letter but recommends that we do so. He wants us to have some credibility and show that legal experts believe that our case is solid.
I did not see that coming.
The point of this matter is to show a large oil company that they cannot and should not push people around. The upside is that I will actually have something to do over my Winter Break instead of sitting on my arse and being lazy.
I cannot wait.
Upon reading the faculty candidate's curriculum vitae, I realized that my excitement to be a part of a process that would have a profound impact on the law school was, more appropriately, a superficial smokescreen that hid potential regret. The man who was to be the center of attention was, what seemed, a scholar of sorts in the area of tax law- not to mention an impressive participant in politics. Aside from his White House internship, I became thoroughly disinterested in the candidate before I met him solely based on his choice of legal field.
I am ecstatic to learn that tax attorneys are not boring and geeky people, contrary to my beliefs. As a person who usually relegates the title of "Future Tax Attorney" to people who I could not see practicing law inside a courtroom (because of their lack of presence and shy demeanors) I became convinced that Tax law could actually be fun. This is an accomplishment deserving recognition.
Joshua Blank was engaging, fun, enthusiastic and very much qualified. He is the type of person from whom I would treasure the opportunity to learn - even if the subject is tax law. He had the student panel, in its entirety, wanting to sign up for his class, and we only talked with him for a 30-minute period. He described using real and imaginative examples that were fun and illustrative to get the point across to his students. He described one such example using Willie Nelson in his lectures as an Assistant Professor at NYU Law School. I figure that any man who can make me laugh, use Willie Nelson and have me understand the drawbacks of the IRS attempting to shame people publicly in the course of three-minutes is definitely quality Law Professor material.
I want to get the most diverse education I can in law school by taking classes in as many different areas as possible. Criminal law, civil law, constitutional law, corporate law, family law, international law and sports law are among the areas to which I want to be exposed. It was not until Joshua Blank spoke to me for 30 minutes that tax law made its way onto the list; it shall remain there if he joins the faculty of the law school.
Making an outstanding impression on me spells success on many different levels. I am outspoken, harsh, pessimistic and I have a very high set of standards that are difficult to meet. I was very much impressed with Mr. Blank, and I certainly hope that the Law School recognizes his potential to contribute to the success of the program and grow the minds of the students lucky enough to learn from him.
I was also granted the opportunity to spend time meeting with my professor. Most law professors are unable to hand out legal advice because of their role at the law school and what I assume could amount to some level of liability for the professor and the law school.
I had scheduled a time to meet with him a week-or-so ago. Lindsay and I had believed that the previously mentioned oil company who attempted to defraud us using bait-and-switch techniques were just ignoring us, hoping we would just go away. After a month had lapsed, we received a letter from their legal counsel yesterday. The letter contained nothing that we did not expect them to deny, but made a few assertions which we believe will haunt them when our impending trial commences.
Anyhow, receiving the letter the day before the scheduled meeting was great timing for us.
I walked into the Civil Procedure Professor's office (after having left the faculty interview) and sat down. It is poignant to note that the professor is the chairman of the faculty hiring committee; it puts me in a great position. We made some small talk, and then got down to business. I told him that I know his limitations as a faculty member, and that I wished to get his advice and feedback about a "hypothetical" case. He laughed, and we continued.
He applauded what we had done to this point, and agreed with our legal assertions. We do, in fact, have a case according to a legal expert. Score another point of validation. He made the same suggestions as my father made just last night (that is a point of validation for him, even though he does not need it). We will be sending a lengthy letter to their legal counsel letting him know that we cannot be dissuaded from pursuing damages. [On a related side-note: I did a second of research on the Oil Company's attorney of record. It turns out that civil litigation is far from his expertise. The sum total of his practice is employment law (which I happen to know a little about at this point).]
My professor told me that he not only suggests that perhaps we drop his name and title into the next letter but recommends that we do so. He wants us to have some credibility and show that legal experts believe that our case is solid.
I did not see that coming.
The point of this matter is to show a large oil company that they cannot and should not push people around. The upside is that I will actually have something to do over my Winter Break instead of sitting on my arse and being lazy.
I cannot wait.
Guest Post - J.Huynh - The Day We Drank In Contracts...
Ms. Huynh is a first year law student at the University of Oregon. She is bright, brilliant, beautiful and has an apparent gift for telling a story.
I stumbled across her posting on Facebook while attempting to procrastinate (at which, as it turns out, I was successful). Having been posted on Facebook, I believe this too great a story to leave it on the networking website. It deserves a place of respect. I like to think this a respectful way to honor great writing and a great story.
Read on:
---
Posted 3:46PM Pacific Time on Facebook -
This note will disappear by the beginning of my 2L year- assuming I make it that far... you'll understand my reasoning as you read on.
Before I begin recounting the details of the most glorious day in law school, you will need some background information to contextualize my morning.
As a first year law student, I am enrolled in a basic contracts course. Contracts thus far has been a topsy turvy roller coaster of bargains, offers, consideration, unconscionability, breach, promisors, promisees, and more. The material is dense. The concepts are intricate. The class is "interesting".
My professor is James Mooney, who has been at the Oregon's law school for the last 35 years. He is a tall, skinny bean pole whose mostly bald head has a half circle of hair that lines the back of his head. But as many have pointed out, his diamond studded earing on his left hear makes him look at least a decade younger and exponentially cooler. He wears tight, tapered jeans and keeps his elbows near his body at all times.
Mooney is brilliantly aggressive in his questioning and interrogation of his students. He's merciless, sarcastic, and enjoys victimizing his young contract 1Ls. After he grilled me, I cried. Seriously. Sort of.
Mooney is a quintessential badass with the respect of his colleagues and love from all of his students.
That's enough background for you to understand my GLORIOUS morning of drinking in contracts...
-----
Mooney comes in and ditches the common routine of the 4 minutes of small talk engaging the class. Odd. He jumps right into Lawrence v. Fox, the landmark case for third party beneficiaries. Blah, blah, he's listing the facts of the case of a loan and three hundred dollars... and then SUDDENLY, a few recognizable 2L students walk in. They are in black suits, black sunglasses, and they have walkie talkies. They start closing every students laptop. I quickly closed mine before they could slam it like they have my fellow students. They slam my books. They start trickling in and offering us donuts (maplebars to be exact).... and then here's where the cases of beer start to pile in.
All of a sudden about 100 people fill our class- many of them dressed in black with sunglasses. Sprinkled among the men and women in black.. the deans of the law school and other revered members of faculty.
They HANDCUFF Mooney. A row of students with black hats that look like the popes start flowing in... like a cult. They have the Farnsworth casebook in their hands. They chant, "Mooney, Mooney, Mooney," as they bang casebooks against their heads.
I had no idea what the fuck was going on. But its ok. I had a beer and a donut.
I soon learned that this was the "98th Annual Mooney Roast"..... the secret tradition at the U of O of partying, laughing, and begging Prof. Mooney to retire. I won't go into the details of each skit, poem, or act... but I will summarize by saying...
I've never seen a defendant "on trial" for being a difficult, ruthless teacher.
I've never sang in a room about "crying and grades dying" (with nearly 200 people in perfect unison) to my professor to the tune of Don McLean's "American Pie".
I've never had two beers and two donuts in class in my 18 years of education.
I've never seen a party dedicated to asking a guy to retire.
I've never seen so many people appreciate one man.
And I've never felt so happy in law school....
...Until today.
Here's to you, Professor Mooney.
Even though we did it in class, here's another hip-hip-hooray!!!
Now, back to my reading.
I stumbled across her posting on Facebook while attempting to procrastinate (at which, as it turns out, I was successful). Having been posted on Facebook, I believe this too great a story to leave it on the networking website. It deserves a place of respect. I like to think this a respectful way to honor great writing and a great story.
Read on:
---
Posted 3:46PM Pacific Time on Facebook -
This note will disappear by the beginning of my 2L year- assuming I make it that far... you'll understand my reasoning as you read on.
Before I begin recounting the details of the most glorious day in law school, you will need some background information to contextualize my morning.
As a first year law student, I am enrolled in a basic contracts course. Contracts thus far has been a topsy turvy roller coaster of bargains, offers, consideration, unconscionability, breach, promisors, promisees, and more. The material is dense. The concepts are intricate. The class is "interesting".
My professor is James Mooney, who has been at the Oregon's law school for the last 35 years. He is a tall, skinny bean pole whose mostly bald head has a half circle of hair that lines the back of his head. But as many have pointed out, his diamond studded earing on his left hear makes him look at least a decade younger and exponentially cooler. He wears tight, tapered jeans and keeps his elbows near his body at all times.
Mooney is brilliantly aggressive in his questioning and interrogation of his students. He's merciless, sarcastic, and enjoys victimizing his young contract 1Ls. After he grilled me, I cried. Seriously. Sort of.
Mooney is a quintessential badass with the respect of his colleagues and love from all of his students.
That's enough background for you to understand my GLORIOUS morning of drinking in contracts...
-----
Mooney comes in and ditches the common routine of the 4 minutes of small talk engaging the class. Odd. He jumps right into Lawrence v. Fox, the landmark case for third party beneficiaries. Blah, blah, he's listing the facts of the case of a loan and three hundred dollars... and then SUDDENLY, a few recognizable 2L students walk in. They are in black suits, black sunglasses, and they have walkie talkies. They start closing every students laptop. I quickly closed mine before they could slam it like they have my fellow students. They slam my books. They start trickling in and offering us donuts (maplebars to be exact).... and then here's where the cases of beer start to pile in.
All of a sudden about 100 people fill our class- many of them dressed in black with sunglasses. Sprinkled among the men and women in black.. the deans of the law school and other revered members of faculty.
They HANDCUFF Mooney. A row of students with black hats that look like the popes start flowing in... like a cult. They have the Farnsworth casebook in their hands. They chant, "Mooney, Mooney, Mooney," as they bang casebooks against their heads.
I had no idea what the fuck was going on. But its ok. I had a beer and a donut.
I soon learned that this was the "98th Annual Mooney Roast"..... the secret tradition at the U of O of partying, laughing, and begging Prof. Mooney to retire. I won't go into the details of each skit, poem, or act... but I will summarize by saying...
I've never seen a defendant "on trial" for being a difficult, ruthless teacher.
I've never sang in a room about "crying and grades dying" (with nearly 200 people in perfect unison) to my professor to the tune of Don McLean's "American Pie".
I've never had two beers and two donuts in class in my 18 years of education.
I've never seen a party dedicated to asking a guy to retire.
I've never seen so many people appreciate one man.
And I've never felt so happy in law school....
...Until today.
Here's to you, Professor Mooney.
Even though we did it in class, here's another hip-hip-hooray!!!
Now, back to my reading.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Special Forces - November 5, 2007
I feel like a menstrual woman. This is the distance school has pushed me.
I have experienced all the symptoms.
A)I have had kidney stones. This is often likened to the pain experienced by women at childbirth.
B)I stress out and get flashes of heat from nowhere. Sweat will begin pouring down my face for reasons unknown.
C)Irritability explodes from its cavernous shell, like a pimple on the back of your neck. It waits silently for the perfectly bad time to show its form; when it does, watch yourself.
D)Tears began to accumulate in my eyes when I watched a video my brother sent me about an autistic boy who loves the game of basketball, and lives his very own dream. True story and many tears.
What is happening to me? To make things even worse than I had originally believed them to be, I decided to send out the video to all my law school friends in an attempt to share my happiness. Manly-men do not send out heart-felt, touching videos to their friends.
I am staging my own intervention. I worry me.
I did, however, rule the eighth-grade world today. I walked into the class, ready to lay down the law as only Chuck Norris could. Much to my surprise, the teacher had prepped the five-year-olds in eighth-grader bodies.
The teacher makes me laugh. She is the image of underpaid frustration. She makes me laugh. Today, she walked up to me and whispered into my ear the following:
“Anybody who says that middle-class, white, suburban children are well adjusted have not met these kids.”
How do you not laugh at that? She then proceeded to ask me how much better I feel about being in law school in relation to being with those kids. She alluded to the fact that teaching in the class is just about as bad as it can get for somebody. I told her, “not so fast,” that I could be persuaded to be there if law school was removed from the picture.
“Really,” she said. She looked at me as if I had just told her that aliens really do exist. Head went back, lips smacked together and went to the side and her eyes were wide open. She could not believe it.
I would use a new tactic today. I turned my back to the aneurysm-makers, and wrote the word “contempt” on the board. I asked the children what the word meant. A hand excitedly went up. The hand was connected to one of my favorite kids in the class (I think I have two who I like). I called on her, and was told that contempt was “like, you know. Like, contempted murder and contempted suicide.” I chuckled, probably noticeably, and told her that I think she meant “attempted.”
After explaining that the judge had the authority to punish people who did not follow rules by sending them to jail or through monetary means they gave me the same perplexed look their teacher gave me earlier. I told them that this is important to remember because today I was the judge.
This actually seemed to work. I was surprised at their ability to keep their mouths shut. I would not be amazed for long. One of the girls was giving me a very hard time, as she always had, and today would be payback for me. I would not however employ normal tactics. No. We are in war times, and Marshall Law was declared. I used psychological warfare to take her down a notch.
She began to tap on her desk incessantly. Her pain-in-the-behind friend, sitting on the other side of the room looked at her. She then looked at me and began to tap. That was it. Time to deploy the Special Forces. I told her to get out of the classroom. ‘But Mr. H,” she said. “Give me another chance.” I told her, again, to leave. This time she complied, but the initiator of the crime was not taking this silently.
She stood up and said, “This is not fair. It was my fault. She did nothing wrong.”
I replied with the mustard gas. “Okay. You can go to the principle, too.”
“No. No. That is alright.” She said as she said back down.
I won. Eighth graders were the object of my wrath and power.
I was surprised that they were able to pull off the trial given how irresponsible and disrespectful they were. They phrased their questions correctly and were able to impress me. What will they think of next?
I had a total of four hours of class, three meetings, and one extracurricular activity today.
One of the meetings was pretty heated, and words were mixed. It is pretty unworthy of note, but to say that I won the debate.
I am experiencing the calm before the storm, so to say. In one week, I will be without a life and with much stress again.
Pray for me?
I have experienced all the symptoms.
A)I have had kidney stones. This is often likened to the pain experienced by women at childbirth.
B)I stress out and get flashes of heat from nowhere. Sweat will begin pouring down my face for reasons unknown.
C)Irritability explodes from its cavernous shell, like a pimple on the back of your neck. It waits silently for the perfectly bad time to show its form; when it does, watch yourself.
D)Tears began to accumulate in my eyes when I watched a video my brother sent me about an autistic boy who loves the game of basketball, and lives his very own dream. True story and many tears.
What is happening to me? To make things even worse than I had originally believed them to be, I decided to send out the video to all my law school friends in an attempt to share my happiness. Manly-men do not send out heart-felt, touching videos to their friends.
I am staging my own intervention. I worry me.
I did, however, rule the eighth-grade world today. I walked into the class, ready to lay down the law as only Chuck Norris could. Much to my surprise, the teacher had prepped the five-year-olds in eighth-grader bodies.
The teacher makes me laugh. She is the image of underpaid frustration. She makes me laugh. Today, she walked up to me and whispered into my ear the following:
“Anybody who says that middle-class, white, suburban children are well adjusted have not met these kids.”
How do you not laugh at that? She then proceeded to ask me how much better I feel about being in law school in relation to being with those kids. She alluded to the fact that teaching in the class is just about as bad as it can get for somebody. I told her, “not so fast,” that I could be persuaded to be there if law school was removed from the picture.
“Really,” she said. She looked at me as if I had just told her that aliens really do exist. Head went back, lips smacked together and went to the side and her eyes were wide open. She could not believe it.
I would use a new tactic today. I turned my back to the aneurysm-makers, and wrote the word “contempt” on the board. I asked the children what the word meant. A hand excitedly went up. The hand was connected to one of my favorite kids in the class (I think I have two who I like). I called on her, and was told that contempt was “like, you know. Like, contempted murder and contempted suicide.” I chuckled, probably noticeably, and told her that I think she meant “attempted.”
After explaining that the judge had the authority to punish people who did not follow rules by sending them to jail or through monetary means they gave me the same perplexed look their teacher gave me earlier. I told them that this is important to remember because today I was the judge.
This actually seemed to work. I was surprised at their ability to keep their mouths shut. I would not be amazed for long. One of the girls was giving me a very hard time, as she always had, and today would be payback for me. I would not however employ normal tactics. No. We are in war times, and Marshall Law was declared. I used psychological warfare to take her down a notch.
She began to tap on her desk incessantly. Her pain-in-the-behind friend, sitting on the other side of the room looked at her. She then looked at me and began to tap. That was it. Time to deploy the Special Forces. I told her to get out of the classroom. ‘But Mr. H,” she said. “Give me another chance.” I told her, again, to leave. This time she complied, but the initiator of the crime was not taking this silently.
She stood up and said, “This is not fair. It was my fault. She did nothing wrong.”
I replied with the mustard gas. “Okay. You can go to the principle, too.”
“No. No. That is alright.” She said as she said back down.
I won. Eighth graders were the object of my wrath and power.
I was surprised that they were able to pull off the trial given how irresponsible and disrespectful they were. They phrased their questions correctly and were able to impress me. What will they think of next?
I had a total of four hours of class, three meetings, and one extracurricular activity today.
One of the meetings was pretty heated, and words were mixed. It is pretty unworthy of note, but to say that I won the debate.
I am experiencing the calm before the storm, so to say. In one week, I will be without a life and with much stress again.
Pray for me?
Friday, November 2, 2007
Conferenced Out - November 2, 2007
I did not fall asleep until 5:00AM. I just could not sleep. I have no clue why I was restless, or why my brain would not shut off. I had nothing due, no tests were pending, nobody yelled at me or disturbed me. I was relatively relaxed given the state of things.
I was supposed to get up at 6:00AM (one hour later) but nothing is that easy. I know my alarm went off, I just do not remember when, or how many times I turned it off. I do know that I was enjoying a cruise in the Caribbean when my phone began to vibrate incessantly. Michelle was on the other end of the phone.
"Are you on your way," she asked.
"On my... oh crap!" I replied.
Not only had I slept through part of a make-up torts class, but I was supposed to have missed that part of the torts class to be at the conference for my fellowship. It was 8:40AM. I was supposed to be at school at 8:00AM. I took the world's quickest shower and shave - a talent in itself - and rushed to my car. I had to decide which way I would take. One is quicker when there is traffic, and the other is quicker when there is no traffic. It was 9:00AM on a Friday, so I figured traffic would be non-existent. Of course, there was a very bad accident that took up all three lanes of the parkway, so I moved 10 feet in 10 minutes. I was going crazy. Had I taken the other way, I would have bypassed the accident altogether.
The conference was spent keeping Michelle awake and trying to act like I was paying attention. Both are much harder than they seem.
The panel discussions on juvenile justice were decently interesting, but on three hours of sleep, all I wanted to do was close my eyes and get back on my cruise ship.
The most interesting part of the conference was listening to a panel of youth who had all been in the "system" and come out productive young men and women discuss and shatter preconceptions about the juvenile justice system.
It turns out that the two tort class make-up sessions that were held while I was in the conference were somewhat important; perhaps not as important to my professor as it is to the legal profession, but important nonetheless.
Palsgraf v. LIRR was finally covered, though my professor apparently did not stress it nor spend nearly the amount of time on it as we had all believed he would. The Palsgraf case is heralded as a landmark decision in the world of torts. It is a good thing I have a father who knows all about it.
Overall, it was a half-decent Friday. I definitely needed one of those.
I was supposed to get up at 6:00AM (one hour later) but nothing is that easy. I know my alarm went off, I just do not remember when, or how many times I turned it off. I do know that I was enjoying a cruise in the Caribbean when my phone began to vibrate incessantly. Michelle was on the other end of the phone.
"Are you on your way," she asked.
"On my... oh crap!" I replied.
Not only had I slept through part of a make-up torts class, but I was supposed to have missed that part of the torts class to be at the conference for my fellowship. It was 8:40AM. I was supposed to be at school at 8:00AM. I took the world's quickest shower and shave - a talent in itself - and rushed to my car. I had to decide which way I would take. One is quicker when there is traffic, and the other is quicker when there is no traffic. It was 9:00AM on a Friday, so I figured traffic would be non-existent. Of course, there was a very bad accident that took up all three lanes of the parkway, so I moved 10 feet in 10 minutes. I was going crazy. Had I taken the other way, I would have bypassed the accident altogether.
The conference was spent keeping Michelle awake and trying to act like I was paying attention. Both are much harder than they seem.
The panel discussions on juvenile justice were decently interesting, but on three hours of sleep, all I wanted to do was close my eyes and get back on my cruise ship.
The most interesting part of the conference was listening to a panel of youth who had all been in the "system" and come out productive young men and women discuss and shatter preconceptions about the juvenile justice system.
It turns out that the two tort class make-up sessions that were held while I was in the conference were somewhat important; perhaps not as important to my professor as it is to the legal profession, but important nonetheless.
Palsgraf v. LIRR was finally covered, though my professor apparently did not stress it nor spend nearly the amount of time on it as we had all believed he would. The Palsgraf case is heralded as a landmark decision in the world of torts. It is a good thing I have a father who knows all about it.
Overall, it was a half-decent Friday. I definitely needed one of those.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Trying Everything - October 29 to November 1, 2007
Law students nonchalantly read about the appeals process. The Appeals Courts and Supreme Court will reverse a finding of the trial court, and sometimes even remand, or return, the case to the trial court with specific directions to the judge. Sometimes a case is remanded to be retried. Other times, the case is remanded and the judge is told what finding to enter as the verdict of the case.
It hit me how incredibly awkward and demeaning this process is for our low-paid, over-worked, often passionate and very wrong judges. A remand and directive for the rendering of a judgment is the equal of a parent handing out a punishment to a child. If the child was to then go to their grandparents to complain about what the parents said, and the grandparents agreed with the child, the grandparents would then tell the child to go back to the parents and the parents would be told that they have to change their initial punishment. Wow.
Monday's devils returned for an encore'. It seems they were not immature enough last Monday, and strove with all their might to excel to a new pinnacle of rowdy disrespect. You have to give it to the eighth graders: they set goals and reach them. I tried everything to subdue the class. When I employed the mutual respect method of calling them Mr. and Ms., and failed, I tried using the classic guilt method. I told them that when they talk to each other it is disrespectful to me, and that I am there as a volunteer, giving my time to have fun with them, and that disrespect will not be tolerated because I really want them to have fun. It was at this point that I lost it. No more nice Mr. Nice, Esquire. I deployed the troops. I was firm, commanding and a "big meanie-face". In fact, I actually kept the nincompoops 15 minutes past the ending bell for the day. They did not seem to care. I failed.
I thought that I was a failed trainer, coach and teacher. As I walked out of the school, I was stopped by the teacher. She told me the following, and I cannot express her seriousness and, for lack of a better word, frustration with this group of kids. "I have been teaching for quite some time now," she said. "But this is the worst, most disrespectful and out of control bunch of kids I have ever taught." She continued, "I had this same group last year, and they were just as bad then. They have not matured in the least, and they probably never will." I was taken aback. I cannot believe that she told me that. But, before I could say something, she continued where she left off. "You are doing a great job with a horribly bad class. You should be proud." Wow. "Wow," is all I could say.
After telling her that I would return next week for their mock trial, and more excitingly, my last visit, I left the building partially disturbed by what a teacher said. Looks as if I am not alone.
Monday continued the writing of the memorandum that was due Tuesday. It was quite the stressful day that was spent in the library. I stepped out of the double doors of the law building at 11PM. I was tired, stressed, and anxious. My eyes were blurry and there was a lot of legal writing on my head. I did, however, sleep like a baby.
Tuesday's legal writing class was cancelled because we had the paper due. The morning was spent revising, redrafting, re-justifying and retrying to get my point across. I turned my paper in 30 minutes before the 12:00PM deadline. After that, I looked at Nelson, who had just finished turning his paper. I nodded at him. He nodded back, and we said simultaneously, "Lunch." The Carebear and I needed to get out of the library; food was a necessity, as was escape.
I returned to the law building for civil procedure. Nothing was different today. During class, my peers and I utilize technology, and hold instant message conversations. We usually assist each other when called upon - as I have previously described - but sometimes the talk can turn to comedy. I do my best to pay attention, as I am a whiz at taking in that which is professed by the professor. Today the professor was wearing a light green turtle-neck shirt. When he stands in front of the class, a courtroom-type bar (a quarter wall) is in front of the professor. We can only see him from the stomach-up. Behind the professor is a classic green chalkboard. The board is the color of his shirt.
Debra - one of my friends who lives in Manhattan -had the following conversation with me:
D- Look he matches the board.
H- you almost made me laugh out loud just now
D- hahah that would have been great
D- I am sad that you didn't
H- he actually blends in
D- well he does
D- and he is wearing a turtle neck
D- who doesn't laugh at that
D- oh boy
D- its a great day for the professor
H- haha
H- every time I look at the board... i laugh
H- I hate you
H- hahahahah
Then the jokes started up:
H- He is a chameleon!
D- he is trying to blend in
H- good thing this class is short today, or he'd disappear altogether
D- hah
H- He is a floating head. like the Wizard of Oz
D- There is no place like home!
H- I'll take the brain.
I could not look at my professor without laughing for the rest of the class.
The rest of the day went very well. I felt as though a giant burden had been lifted off of my head. Maybe it was regaining my form after the boulder that had crushed me earlier in the week had settled at the bottom of the mountain. I had reached the peak of the mountain, and boy was I happy.
Wednesday was the average no good, very bad day. There was very little to it. Halloween was upon us, and I am no fan of the day, so I braced for the worst. I was, however, a fan of the plethora of little kiddos running around, going door-to-door. I was excited to get home and contribute to the growing childhood obesity epidemic. I was saddened to learn that I had missed the major wave of children, as all the young children had already visited. I was graced with a few children, who Marley attacked in her alligator costume.
Then came today. Thursday was very interesting. I knew it was going to continue a decently mediocre, yet very jovial week when Michelle walked into criminal law and told me that she did not believe she would be called out and grilled for the rest of the semester because she had been the object of the professor's affectionate use of the Socratic method. The Almighty was listening. The powers that be spited Michelle for such statement. Sure enough she was called upon, and was not ready at all. Life is good.
I was also able to live out the moment I had looked forward to all semester. My "Shawshank Redemption" first-night-in-prison scene had finally come. The professor was doing business as usual, and I guess the girl who happened to be her 'business' lost it. Fresh fish! Fresh fish! Fresh fish! She broke down into tears and sobbed. "I cannot do this," she said. "Call on somebody else." My professor looked as that which can only be described as a perplexed dog. Her head slightly tilted to the side, eyebrow went up and she said, "Uh, okay." Then, the pen went to her special note paper, she quickly inscribed her secret message, and moved on. This paper, as well as the seating chart, has been a mystery to the class. Nobody knows what she is writing or why she is writing it. We may never know.
In addition to calling on the "sobber", she called on my "mark". Since I was called on the first day of class, I was most likely in the clear until everybody else had been called upon. I set people who I know have not been called on as my mark. I know that when my mark is called on, my number is close to coming up again. The draft really is scary. Michelle was my mark until she was called on the first time last week. I needed a new mark, or I needed to start doing a whiz-bang complete job of reading. I found a new mark: the girl who sits in the row directly behind me. She was called on today, and it seems I am out of new people to set as my measure. The following weeks should be completely amusing.
Onward into civil procedure. My professor loves to visit with the students before class starts. We noticed a peculiar trend. He usually calls on the people he visits with. So, being an astute 'evader of the hot-seat', I do my best to remain inconspicuous and easily avoided. The professor walked by my row to speak with students behind me. I was busy feeding my CNN addiction by reading news from their website, when I felt a looming force over my left should (I sit in an aisle seat, where the aisle is to my left). I knew this could not be good. I had my headphones in and was enjoying a piece of John Coltrane. I tried not to look up, but the force was not with me. I could avoid it no longer. He engaged me in conversation, and I sat waiting to be called upon. Luckily, he had already pinpointed those persons behind me for the seat-of-death. I was just a secondary conversation. I missed a perfectly good time to talk to him. What a shame.
Tomorrow I have a conference to attend for my Legal Fellowship. It should be quite interesting. I am told that there are over 200 people attending. This will be a fantastic networking opportunity. Go team!
For now, I slumber.
It hit me how incredibly awkward and demeaning this process is for our low-paid, over-worked, often passionate and very wrong judges. A remand and directive for the rendering of a judgment is the equal of a parent handing out a punishment to a child. If the child was to then go to their grandparents to complain about what the parents said, and the grandparents agreed with the child, the grandparents would then tell the child to go back to the parents and the parents would be told that they have to change their initial punishment. Wow.
Monday's devils returned for an encore'. It seems they were not immature enough last Monday, and strove with all their might to excel to a new pinnacle of rowdy disrespect. You have to give it to the eighth graders: they set goals and reach them. I tried everything to subdue the class. When I employed the mutual respect method of calling them Mr. and Ms., and failed, I tried using the classic guilt method. I told them that when they talk to each other it is disrespectful to me, and that I am there as a volunteer, giving my time to have fun with them, and that disrespect will not be tolerated because I really want them to have fun. It was at this point that I lost it. No more nice Mr. Nice, Esquire. I deployed the troops. I was firm, commanding and a "big meanie-face". In fact, I actually kept the nincompoops 15 minutes past the ending bell for the day. They did not seem to care. I failed.
I thought that I was a failed trainer, coach and teacher. As I walked out of the school, I was stopped by the teacher. She told me the following, and I cannot express her seriousness and, for lack of a better word, frustration with this group of kids. "I have been teaching for quite some time now," she said. "But this is the worst, most disrespectful and out of control bunch of kids I have ever taught." She continued, "I had this same group last year, and they were just as bad then. They have not matured in the least, and they probably never will." I was taken aback. I cannot believe that she told me that. But, before I could say something, she continued where she left off. "You are doing a great job with a horribly bad class. You should be proud." Wow. "Wow," is all I could say.
After telling her that I would return next week for their mock trial, and more excitingly, my last visit, I left the building partially disturbed by what a teacher said. Looks as if I am not alone.
Monday continued the writing of the memorandum that was due Tuesday. It was quite the stressful day that was spent in the library. I stepped out of the double doors of the law building at 11PM. I was tired, stressed, and anxious. My eyes were blurry and there was a lot of legal writing on my head. I did, however, sleep like a baby.
Tuesday's legal writing class was cancelled because we had the paper due. The morning was spent revising, redrafting, re-justifying and retrying to get my point across. I turned my paper in 30 minutes before the 12:00PM deadline. After that, I looked at Nelson, who had just finished turning his paper. I nodded at him. He nodded back, and we said simultaneously, "Lunch." The Carebear and I needed to get out of the library; food was a necessity, as was escape.
I returned to the law building for civil procedure. Nothing was different today. During class, my peers and I utilize technology, and hold instant message conversations. We usually assist each other when called upon - as I have previously described - but sometimes the talk can turn to comedy. I do my best to pay attention, as I am a whiz at taking in that which is professed by the professor. Today the professor was wearing a light green turtle-neck shirt. When he stands in front of the class, a courtroom-type bar (a quarter wall) is in front of the professor. We can only see him from the stomach-up. Behind the professor is a classic green chalkboard. The board is the color of his shirt.
Debra - one of my friends who lives in Manhattan -had the following conversation with me:
D- Look he matches the board.
H- you almost made me laugh out loud just now
D- hahah that would have been great
D- I am sad that you didn't
H- he actually blends in
D- well he does
D- and he is wearing a turtle neck
D- who doesn't laugh at that
D- oh boy
D- its a great day for the professor
H- haha
H- every time I look at the board... i laugh
H- I hate you
H- hahahahah
Then the jokes started up:
H- He is a chameleon!
D- he is trying to blend in
H- good thing this class is short today, or he'd disappear altogether
D- hah
H- He is a floating head. like the Wizard of Oz
D- There is no place like home!
H- I'll take the brain.
I could not look at my professor without laughing for the rest of the class.
The rest of the day went very well. I felt as though a giant burden had been lifted off of my head. Maybe it was regaining my form after the boulder that had crushed me earlier in the week had settled at the bottom of the mountain. I had reached the peak of the mountain, and boy was I happy.
Wednesday was the average no good, very bad day. There was very little to it. Halloween was upon us, and I am no fan of the day, so I braced for the worst. I was, however, a fan of the plethora of little kiddos running around, going door-to-door. I was excited to get home and contribute to the growing childhood obesity epidemic. I was saddened to learn that I had missed the major wave of children, as all the young children had already visited. I was graced with a few children, who Marley attacked in her alligator costume.
Then came today. Thursday was very interesting. I knew it was going to continue a decently mediocre, yet very jovial week when Michelle walked into criminal law and told me that she did not believe she would be called out and grilled for the rest of the semester because she had been the object of the professor's affectionate use of the Socratic method. The Almighty was listening. The powers that be spited Michelle for such statement. Sure enough she was called upon, and was not ready at all. Life is good.
I was also able to live out the moment I had looked forward to all semester. My "Shawshank Redemption" first-night-in-prison scene had finally come. The professor was doing business as usual, and I guess the girl who happened to be her 'business' lost it. Fresh fish! Fresh fish! Fresh fish! She broke down into tears and sobbed. "I cannot do this," she said. "Call on somebody else." My professor looked as that which can only be described as a perplexed dog. Her head slightly tilted to the side, eyebrow went up and she said, "Uh, okay." Then, the pen went to her special note paper, she quickly inscribed her secret message, and moved on. This paper, as well as the seating chart, has been a mystery to the class. Nobody knows what she is writing or why she is writing it. We may never know.
In addition to calling on the "sobber", she called on my "mark". Since I was called on the first day of class, I was most likely in the clear until everybody else had been called upon. I set people who I know have not been called on as my mark. I know that when my mark is called on, my number is close to coming up again. The draft really is scary. Michelle was my mark until she was called on the first time last week. I needed a new mark, or I needed to start doing a whiz-bang complete job of reading. I found a new mark: the girl who sits in the row directly behind me. She was called on today, and it seems I am out of new people to set as my measure. The following weeks should be completely amusing.
Onward into civil procedure. My professor loves to visit with the students before class starts. We noticed a peculiar trend. He usually calls on the people he visits with. So, being an astute 'evader of the hot-seat', I do my best to remain inconspicuous and easily avoided. The professor walked by my row to speak with students behind me. I was busy feeding my CNN addiction by reading news from their website, when I felt a looming force over my left should (I sit in an aisle seat, where the aisle is to my left). I knew this could not be good. I had my headphones in and was enjoying a piece of John Coltrane. I tried not to look up, but the force was not with me. I could avoid it no longer. He engaged me in conversation, and I sat waiting to be called upon. Luckily, he had already pinpointed those persons behind me for the seat-of-death. I was just a secondary conversation. I missed a perfectly good time to talk to him. What a shame.
Tomorrow I have a conference to attend for my Legal Fellowship. It should be quite interesting. I am told that there are over 200 people attending. This will be a fantastic networking opportunity. Go team!
For now, I slumber.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
When the Hill and Boulder Win - October 24-27, 2007
On Wednesday I rolled the boulder to the top of the hill. Then, on Thursday the mammoth stone ball rolled back down the hill: right over me. Then, on Friday, I was obviously crushed. These three days evoked an array of differing shades of horrible. The mysterious "will to continue" vanished; no snap of the fingers need apply.
Every day is becoming a burden. Every morning's wake up more difficult than the last. Every night is getting later. I need to move to a place where beds are unnecessary. A place where the sun shines 23 hours a day. Yeah. Ireland make room for a weary law student.
Michelle turned to Megan in torts on Wednesday. Michelle to Megan: "What I need to do is go to sleep, and just not wake up for a long, long time." Megan responded: "I do believe that is what learned people refer to as death." It was at this moment that I piped in. "I am strangely becoming comfortable with death," I quipped back. We law students are sick people. There must be an 'auto-off' switch that is triggered in the brain when one enters purgatory - oh, yes - when law school begins, areas of the organ sitting in the skull become dormant in order to supply blood to the portion of the brain that regulates suicide and the need to be social. The areas that cease working are probably the happy factory - the producer of all that is good in life - and the dumb question authority that would normally tell a person that their question is not only a waste of time, but entirely idiotic.
I like to think that my brain has enough supplies to last until the end of the semester. The winter is rolling in with a iron fist, so I cannot make any promises to the foregoing. I feel like the German Army in Russia: even if I do not make it the first time, I tell myself that the next time will go differently. Somebody should have told the Germans about the Russian winter, they are bad every single year. They were not in a 'if at first you do not succeed…' scenario. Although I am in the same Russian boat, I am a bit more lucky and educated than the twice-failed German army: I have people who remind me constantly that if I think it is cold in New York now, that I am in for a 'treat' when two-weeks pass. Thinking about parting with my sandals makes me want to cry. But then I say to myself: "What good will crying do? Tears freeze!"
On the actual school front, the third legal writing paper has chipped away at my sanity. Ten pages of memorandum is enough to crack the aforementioned boulder. Sadly, the boulder did not crumble. It was so solid that even a crack did not stop it, and we know what happened with the boulder and I. Not a good story.
Thursday was spectacular. It was awesome. It was a spectacular day for the health insurance companies, and an awesomely bad day for me. The move across the country, for some reason, was not compatible with health insurance. I had planned to use the entire afternoon to write the memorandum that is collected this coming Tuesday, but nothing I want happens. Ever.
All I wanted was a Doctor. I needed a specialist. I was in an emergency situation. I needed rescue, and all that was available was FEMA. Basically, I had no help. Nearly seven hours and calls to over 50 doctors later, I was right back where I started: I was at the start, only later. Three calls to the insurance company - thankfully located on the West Coast, giving me more time - and I was no further along than I was when the adventure in doctor finding began on Monday. After playing games, I was assured that I would receive a call by the call-center supervisor the following morning with answers and was made numerous promises - promises that could only be verbal as it is company policy that nothing can be put in paper - that I had no way of ensuring would be kept. I was actually able to make an appointment with a doctor, though I never did receive a call from the supervisor who, like a dramatic spouse, told me that she had not ever lied to me before and would follow through, and in order for our 'relationship' to work, I needed to show some trust. I replied with a semi-giggle and that "I am not in this for a relationship, all I want is an appointment with a doctor. " It seems our 'relationship' was doomed from the beginning.
On top of the Great Insurance Fiasco of 2007 and the Memorandum Meltdown of New York, I was dealing with a Halloween Party. Normally, a party is not a big deal. However, this was problematic because Lindsay (the roommate) and I had decided we would host said party. Oh life! Why did I not look at a calendar?
I am not the biggest fan of secondary holidays (Valentine's Day, Halloween, St. Patrick's Day and the like) and was not thrilled to celebrate the 31 of October this year, but alas, it is a great excuse to socialize and forget about the lack of happiness in my life.
I do, however, live the words of my grandmother: Try everything twice and anything worth doing is worth doing well. I go full force into everything. Nothing but the best, regardless of my hatred of the day. I dressed up in a classic costume, though it had implications that I was not cognizant of until after the body paint was applied. (There would be no women within a close proximity to my face until the oil-based paint was removed. Oh well.) Pictures are available upon request.
The evening was interesting. No other word describes it with more quality. There was very little couch, cushion, and extra mattress space for people to use for sleep. Comfort was at a premium. When the bar visit concluded, we all went back to where the party started (my house) and stayed for the night. Later in the night, I was blessed with the opportunity to clean partially digested pizza and alcohol in the form of regurgitated matter from my bed, compliments of one of my friends. To exact my revenge upon having to clean my bed, my floor and my carpet, I decided it best to give the USC-hating, Reggie-Bush-loathing, Texas-fan-of-a-friend a USC shirt with Reggie Bush on the front. She was surprised when she woke up the next morning.
Revenge is a way of life.
Lindsay set up the party plans and logistics, while I took care of the mass communication of those plans to all who wished to attend. I sent out two emails to those friends lucky enough to be a part of the guest list, both of which were, for reasons I do not know, heralded as a hilariously great break to the recipients day. I attribute them to my boredom and nothing more, but, for posterity, I have pasted the text below for the record and insight into my mind (and week).
I bid the mess of this week adieu. With any luck, it shall soon be forgotten. Fare-the-well.
The previously mentioned Emails follow:
-----
EMAIL ONE - October 23, 2007 - Details, Details
All-
If you have not yet RSVP'd in the affirmative (Nelson), you should probably get on that. It would be a shame for the people who refer to themselves as my friends to miss out on what will probably be the most awesome Saturday in the history of October 2007. The party will be that good.
Memorandums, reading, pancreatic pains, highlighting, washing your hair, tornadoes and picking your nose will not suffice as an excuse. High expectations, people.
The festivities will start whenever people arrive, and will end whenever people leave. Somewhere in the middle of the party, we will be going to a bar (so I am told). The bar is not too far from our domicile, so Taxis shall be the transportation of choice. Bring a couple bucks for the ride there and back. If you wish to sleep at Chateaus 'H', you are more than welcome. We have couches, mattresses, carpeted floors and other locations (depending on how inebriated I get) for you to partake in slumber. Friends don't let friends drink and drive.
Inasmuch as Lindsay and I would like to think of ourselves as rich, we merely know a guy with that name. Our poor selves can only supply so much liquid joy for the group, so we are asking everybody to bring their favorite water-based party-in-a-bottle to share with the party people, or just me. You do not have to go overboard (unless you dress up as a pirate), but show your enthusiasm by donating.
Costumes are required. If this were any other day, costumes - as well as clothing - would be optional. But, alas, this is a Halloween shindig. If the alcohol makes you want to remove your costume - or clothes - Lindsay approves. However, come dressed as something because those are the rules.We do not make them, we just enforce them. We have been teaching the dog how to attack people with ferocity, and she is ready to bite the ankles of anybody without a costume. Don't test her limits, [the dog] has a temper (in addition to a big bladder).
Questions? Comments? Concerns? Ask Lindsay. When she fails, then come to me.
Yar,
-'H'
-----
EMAIL TWO - October 26, 2007 - What You Need Other Than Alcohol and 'H'
You are joyful. You are excited. Heck. Let's face it: you cannot control your glee. I understand what you are going through. The best night of our adult lives is about to occur, and we just cannot wait.
You think you have it all: new Gucci sunglasses, a special edition Prada handbag (Nelson has a man-bag), a personalized, autographed picture of Prince singing Purple Rain (complete with the sheen of sweat showering from the body part formally known as his face) and a Civil Procedure textbook. What else could you possibly want?
"Nothing", you say. "My address", I scoff in disbelief.
How are you supposed to arrive at the party of your dreams if you do not have the address? Perplexing!
Well, people: Luckily I have that which you need!
[Insert Address Here]
For more information or more directions when you somehow, without reason, get lost, call H or Lindsay (Not necessarily in that order)
For relationship advice, call Dr. Phil
For a good time, call Justin. (I give no guarantees.)
Peace, love and death to those who attempt to attend without a costume,
-H
P.S. Killer (a.k.a. The Dog) says "Grrr!"
Every day is becoming a burden. Every morning's wake up more difficult than the last. Every night is getting later. I need to move to a place where beds are unnecessary. A place where the sun shines 23 hours a day. Yeah. Ireland make room for a weary law student.
Michelle turned to Megan in torts on Wednesday. Michelle to Megan: "What I need to do is go to sleep, and just not wake up for a long, long time." Megan responded: "I do believe that is what learned people refer to as death." It was at this moment that I piped in. "I am strangely becoming comfortable with death," I quipped back. We law students are sick people. There must be an 'auto-off' switch that is triggered in the brain when one enters purgatory - oh, yes - when law school begins, areas of the organ sitting in the skull become dormant in order to supply blood to the portion of the brain that regulates suicide and the need to be social. The areas that cease working are probably the happy factory - the producer of all that is good in life - and the dumb question authority that would normally tell a person that their question is not only a waste of time, but entirely idiotic.
I like to think that my brain has enough supplies to last until the end of the semester. The winter is rolling in with a iron fist, so I cannot make any promises to the foregoing. I feel like the German Army in Russia: even if I do not make it the first time, I tell myself that the next time will go differently. Somebody should have told the Germans about the Russian winter, they are bad every single year. They were not in a 'if at first you do not succeed…' scenario. Although I am in the same Russian boat, I am a bit more lucky and educated than the twice-failed German army: I have people who remind me constantly that if I think it is cold in New York now, that I am in for a 'treat' when two-weeks pass. Thinking about parting with my sandals makes me want to cry. But then I say to myself: "What good will crying do? Tears freeze!"
On the actual school front, the third legal writing paper has chipped away at my sanity. Ten pages of memorandum is enough to crack the aforementioned boulder. Sadly, the boulder did not crumble. It was so solid that even a crack did not stop it, and we know what happened with the boulder and I. Not a good story.
Thursday was spectacular. It was awesome. It was a spectacular day for the health insurance companies, and an awesomely bad day for me. The move across the country, for some reason, was not compatible with health insurance. I had planned to use the entire afternoon to write the memorandum that is collected this coming Tuesday, but nothing I want happens. Ever.
All I wanted was a Doctor. I needed a specialist. I was in an emergency situation. I needed rescue, and all that was available was FEMA. Basically, I had no help. Nearly seven hours and calls to over 50 doctors later, I was right back where I started: I was at the start, only later. Three calls to the insurance company - thankfully located on the West Coast, giving me more time - and I was no further along than I was when the adventure in doctor finding began on Monday. After playing games, I was assured that I would receive a call by the call-center supervisor the following morning with answers and was made numerous promises - promises that could only be verbal as it is company policy that nothing can be put in paper - that I had no way of ensuring would be kept. I was actually able to make an appointment with a doctor, though I never did receive a call from the supervisor who, like a dramatic spouse, told me that she had not ever lied to me before and would follow through, and in order for our 'relationship' to work, I needed to show some trust. I replied with a semi-giggle and that "I am not in this for a relationship, all I want is an appointment with a doctor. " It seems our 'relationship' was doomed from the beginning.
On top of the Great Insurance Fiasco of 2007 and the Memorandum Meltdown of New York, I was dealing with a Halloween Party. Normally, a party is not a big deal. However, this was problematic because Lindsay (the roommate) and I had decided we would host said party. Oh life! Why did I not look at a calendar?
I am not the biggest fan of secondary holidays (Valentine's Day, Halloween, St. Patrick's Day and the like) and was not thrilled to celebrate the 31 of October this year, but alas, it is a great excuse to socialize and forget about the lack of happiness in my life.
I do, however, live the words of my grandmother: Try everything twice and anything worth doing is worth doing well. I go full force into everything. Nothing but the best, regardless of my hatred of the day. I dressed up in a classic costume, though it had implications that I was not cognizant of until after the body paint was applied. (There would be no women within a close proximity to my face until the oil-based paint was removed. Oh well.) Pictures are available upon request.
The evening was interesting. No other word describes it with more quality. There was very little couch, cushion, and extra mattress space for people to use for sleep. Comfort was at a premium. When the bar visit concluded, we all went back to where the party started (my house) and stayed for the night. Later in the night, I was blessed with the opportunity to clean partially digested pizza and alcohol in the form of regurgitated matter from my bed, compliments of one of my friends. To exact my revenge upon having to clean my bed, my floor and my carpet, I decided it best to give the USC-hating, Reggie-Bush-loathing, Texas-fan-of-a-friend a USC shirt with Reggie Bush on the front. She was surprised when she woke up the next morning.
Revenge is a way of life.
Lindsay set up the party plans and logistics, while I took care of the mass communication of those plans to all who wished to attend. I sent out two emails to those friends lucky enough to be a part of the guest list, both of which were, for reasons I do not know, heralded as a hilariously great break to the recipients day. I attribute them to my boredom and nothing more, but, for posterity, I have pasted the text below for the record and insight into my mind (and week).
I bid the mess of this week adieu. With any luck, it shall soon be forgotten. Fare-the-well.
The previously mentioned Emails follow:
-----
EMAIL ONE - October 23, 2007 - Details, Details
All-
If you have not yet RSVP'd in the affirmative (Nelson), you should probably get on that. It would be a shame for the people who refer to themselves as my friends to miss out on what will probably be the most awesome Saturday in the history of October 2007. The party will be that good.
Memorandums, reading, pancreatic pains, highlighting, washing your hair, tornadoes and picking your nose will not suffice as an excuse. High expectations, people.
The festivities will start whenever people arrive, and will end whenever people leave. Somewhere in the middle of the party, we will be going to a bar (so I am told). The bar is not too far from our domicile, so Taxis shall be the transportation of choice. Bring a couple bucks for the ride there and back. If you wish to sleep at Chateaus 'H', you are more than welcome. We have couches, mattresses, carpeted floors and other locations (depending on how inebriated I get) for you to partake in slumber. Friends don't let friends drink and drive.
Inasmuch as Lindsay and I would like to think of ourselves as rich, we merely know a guy with that name. Our poor selves can only supply so much liquid joy for the group, so we are asking everybody to bring their favorite water-based party-in-a-bottle to share with the party people, or just me. You do not have to go overboard (unless you dress up as a pirate), but show your enthusiasm by donating.
Costumes are required. If this were any other day, costumes - as well as clothing - would be optional. But, alas, this is a Halloween shindig. If the alcohol makes you want to remove your costume - or clothes - Lindsay approves. However, come dressed as something because those are the rules.We do not make them, we just enforce them. We have been teaching the dog how to attack people with ferocity, and she is ready to bite the ankles of anybody without a costume. Don't test her limits, [the dog] has a temper (in addition to a big bladder).
Questions? Comments? Concerns? Ask Lindsay. When she fails, then come to me.
Yar,
-'H'
-----
EMAIL TWO - October 26, 2007 - What You Need Other Than Alcohol and 'H'
You are joyful. You are excited. Heck. Let's face it: you cannot control your glee. I understand what you are going through. The best night of our adult lives is about to occur, and we just cannot wait.
You think you have it all: new Gucci sunglasses, a special edition Prada handbag (Nelson has a man-bag), a personalized, autographed picture of Prince singing Purple Rain (complete with the sheen of sweat showering from the body part formally known as his face) and a Civil Procedure textbook. What else could you possibly want?
"Nothing", you say. "My address", I scoff in disbelief.
How are you supposed to arrive at the party of your dreams if you do not have the address? Perplexing!
Well, people: Luckily I have that which you need!
[Insert Address Here]
For more information or more directions when you somehow, without reason, get lost, call H or Lindsay (Not necessarily in that order)
For relationship advice, call Dr. Phil
For a good time, call Justin. (I give no guarantees.)
Peace, love and death to those who attempt to attend without a costume,
-H
P.S. Killer (a.k.a. The Dog) says "Grrr!"
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
TWO New Posts
Be sure to check out the latest posts. There are two. October 22 and October 23.
October 23 was posted before October 22, so check out the 22nd if you have read just the 23rd.
Cheers!
October 23 was posted before October 22, so check out the 22nd if you have read just the 23rd.
Cheers!
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Answering The Question, and Not Laughing - October 23, 2007
The day can be summed up best by a quote from my Civil Procedure Professor.
"I'm laughing and you are laughing, but you are the one who has to answer the question."
The day was not good in the least. It was a Tuesday, for crying out loud. Tuesdays are not supposed to be rough. Bad days are earmarked for Mondays, Wednesdays, exam days, and those days following sleepless nights. As a result of this bad day, tomorrow will likely be worse than slated.
The day was not necessarily bad as a result of classes alone, or even because of a single incident, but is, perhaps, the result of the mixing of many stressful, burdensome and busy ingredients. I had the equivalent of a mid-life crisis-turn nervous breakdown with a hint of anxiety attack.
I am the product of over-achievement. Usually, this would be a fine trait. However, I am not used to having to work hard for what I accomplish. The truth bears its white-head and bursts when the time comes to apply yourself. If you have not built the foundation for a solid work ethic, you have to begin at the bottom. Twenty-three years of natural success has turned into the quintessential blessing. However this blessing was a disguise for flaw, and the flaw is catching up to me.
My normally happy self was anything but jovial today. I am known by my friends as the one who can make anybody laugh, making me a valuable resource to the group (I like to believe). Making other people happy has kept me happy.
But, something happened yesterday - the iron beam that broke the rhinoceros' back. I have no idea what it was. I do have some ideas.
Legal writing constantly burdens my brain with an overabundance of work. Civil procedure grades were due today. Then the grades were postponed. We fell victims to a sneak-attack when emails from the Law School registrar were received with our grades. I did very well, though not as well as I had hoped - the downfall of the overachiever.
No matter how I do, I know I will be successful in life. I know very little, but I do know that much. I also know that I have always been harder on myself than my parents ever were or could be. Heck, even they understood this oddity - they gave up trying to sway my opinion or convince me of that which I do not believe a long time ago (though my father often gets much joy out of seeing how upset and impassioned he can make me on a political issue). I have not been too happy about their apathy in my decisions, though I understand that it is futile a great majority of the time. I often, with a straight face, sought to convince my mother of my wish to drop out of the top university I was attending to seek an education at clown school. These statements were always met with the same statement: "I know you will do what is right for you." Be it the Jewish guilt my mother employs or simple apathy, they stopped trying because I try hard to achieve.
However, trying hard to achieve does not mean I work hard when I do the achieving. And, as I say, this was not good. I am now paying the price, and I am working myself into a frenzy. The mixture of a new geographic area, new social settings, a new climate, being in professional school with a harsh grading curve, a packed academic schedule and the distance from my family is boiling near the edge of the pot. Hopefully I can contain the mixture, not losing it to evaporation or the sizzling stove (read: law school).
I did, however, enjoy a great success. My civil procedure professor refused to release any statistics of the midterm grading (mean, median, mode and any grade distribution). Upon receiving my grade, it really did not have much meaning. I did not know whether to trudge on in my unhappiness or be happy in comparison. I needed more information, so I decided to construct an email, as is posted below with a response (names and identifying information redacted).
----
Subject: Not about my grade.
------------------------
From: H
To: Professor
Date: Tue, Oct 23, 2007 at 5:40 PM
Professor,
To clear the air, I am not writing this email to argue or question my grade. I want to relay another sentiment to you.
I understand that you do not believe that dispersing a grade distribution would help my peers (and myself) in any way, but my grade means very little to me unless I know how I did in comparison to my classmates. I could have received a 24.5, and if everybody else in the class received a 25, I would know that I need to work harder. Now, I recognize that everybody was graded on the same scale, and that the exam was not curved, but I have no way of measuring my success unless I know how this success would translate were it the final examination. I do not know whether to change my study habits because I did poorly in comparison to those around me, or if I should utilize those same habits on the final. I want to get the highest grade in the class, and I know every other student shares the same sentiment. We are all aiming to be at the top, but we have no clue where the summit of the mountain lies, nor do we know where on the mountain we currently stand. To scale the mountain, I need a map.
I do not envy professors and the entire grading process. So, thank you for everything thus far.
Just a respectful thought.
-----
From: Professor
To: H>
Date: Tue, Oct 23, 2007 at 5:46 PM
"H", You make an excellent argument and have convinced me to change my
mind. The Registrar calculated the average grade for the class, and it
is #. I will post that info ... so that everybody will know.
Thanx for pursuing the point in such an effective and appropriate way.
-----
Yes, the professor used the shorthand "thanx".
Anyhow, I attempt to do work amid this harsh day. At least I yielded one victory today.
The professor is still laughing.
"I'm laughing and you are laughing, but you are the one who has to answer the question."
The day was not good in the least. It was a Tuesday, for crying out loud. Tuesdays are not supposed to be rough. Bad days are earmarked for Mondays, Wednesdays, exam days, and those days following sleepless nights. As a result of this bad day, tomorrow will likely be worse than slated.
The day was not necessarily bad as a result of classes alone, or even because of a single incident, but is, perhaps, the result of the mixing of many stressful, burdensome and busy ingredients. I had the equivalent of a mid-life crisis-turn nervous breakdown with a hint of anxiety attack.
I am the product of over-achievement. Usually, this would be a fine trait. However, I am not used to having to work hard for what I accomplish. The truth bears its white-head and bursts when the time comes to apply yourself. If you have not built the foundation for a solid work ethic, you have to begin at the bottom. Twenty-three years of natural success has turned into the quintessential blessing. However this blessing was a disguise for flaw, and the flaw is catching up to me.
My normally happy self was anything but jovial today. I am known by my friends as the one who can make anybody laugh, making me a valuable resource to the group (I like to believe). Making other people happy has kept me happy.
But, something happened yesterday - the iron beam that broke the rhinoceros' back. I have no idea what it was. I do have some ideas.
Legal writing constantly burdens my brain with an overabundance of work. Civil procedure grades were due today. Then the grades were postponed. We fell victims to a sneak-attack when emails from the Law School registrar were received with our grades. I did very well, though not as well as I had hoped - the downfall of the overachiever.
No matter how I do, I know I will be successful in life. I know very little, but I do know that much. I also know that I have always been harder on myself than my parents ever were or could be. Heck, even they understood this oddity - they gave up trying to sway my opinion or convince me of that which I do not believe a long time ago (though my father often gets much joy out of seeing how upset and impassioned he can make me on a political issue). I have not been too happy about their apathy in my decisions, though I understand that it is futile a great majority of the time. I often, with a straight face, sought to convince my mother of my wish to drop out of the top university I was attending to seek an education at clown school. These statements were always met with the same statement: "I know you will do what is right for you." Be it the Jewish guilt my mother employs or simple apathy, they stopped trying because I try hard to achieve.
However, trying hard to achieve does not mean I work hard when I do the achieving. And, as I say, this was not good. I am now paying the price, and I am working myself into a frenzy. The mixture of a new geographic area, new social settings, a new climate, being in professional school with a harsh grading curve, a packed academic schedule and the distance from my family is boiling near the edge of the pot. Hopefully I can contain the mixture, not losing it to evaporation or the sizzling stove (read: law school).
I did, however, enjoy a great success. My civil procedure professor refused to release any statistics of the midterm grading (mean, median, mode and any grade distribution). Upon receiving my grade, it really did not have much meaning. I did not know whether to trudge on in my unhappiness or be happy in comparison. I needed more information, so I decided to construct an email, as is posted below with a response (names and identifying information redacted).
----
Subject: Not about my grade.
------------------------
From: H
To: Professor
Date: Tue, Oct 23, 2007 at 5:40 PM
Professor,
To clear the air, I am not writing this email to argue or question my grade. I want to relay another sentiment to you.
I understand that you do not believe that dispersing a grade distribution would help my peers (and myself) in any way, but my grade means very little to me unless I know how I did in comparison to my classmates. I could have received a 24.5, and if everybody else in the class received a 25, I would know that I need to work harder. Now, I recognize that everybody was graded on the same scale, and that the exam was not curved, but I have no way of measuring my success unless I know how this success would translate were it the final examination. I do not know whether to change my study habits because I did poorly in comparison to those around me, or if I should utilize those same habits on the final. I want to get the highest grade in the class, and I know every other student shares the same sentiment. We are all aiming to be at the top, but we have no clue where the summit of the mountain lies, nor do we know where on the mountain we currently stand. To scale the mountain, I need a map.
I do not envy professors and the entire grading process. So, thank you for everything thus far.
Just a respectful thought.
-----
From: Professor
To: H>
Date: Tue, Oct 23, 2007 at 5:46 PM
"H", You make an excellent argument and have convinced me to change my
mind. The Registrar calculated the average grade for the class, and it
is #. I will post that info ... so that everybody will know.
Thanx for pursuing the point in such an effective and appropriate way.
-----
Yes, the professor used the shorthand "thanx".
Anyhow, I attempt to do work amid this harsh day. At least I yielded one victory today.
The professor is still laughing.
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