Fall Party E-Melee, A Follow-Up.

The reaction to my email regarding the SBA Party was loud and swift. While, to a person, all responding 2Ls and 3Ls thought it a great email, the reaction among 1Ls was almost the exact office. It's a good thing I have a bird right now and am no longer "in the hunt" for 1Ls, as I surely would have hampered my chances. Anyway, so the vitriol among the entering class was so strong that I became convinced that I had to send a second email to clarify the first one, and to mend fences as best I could.

Deciding to mend fences was not the easiest decision to come to. I was torn between that and responding with a long-winded way of saying, "shut the fuck up, you bunch of whiny runny cunts." The c-word probably would not have made the final draft, but the sentiment would have remained the same. In any event, I decided not to contribute to the escalation of animosity any more. Below is the response I formulated between the hours of 2 and 4 a.m. while half-drunk on Black Velvet.

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Hello All,
I write today for two primary reasons:

1. Clarify any confusion as to what the SBA Fall Party involves.
2. Clear up any misunderstandings as to my previous email.

First things first, I will do my best to forego the bombastic language so as to avoid any confusion regarding my meaning and my intentions.

1. Explaining the SBA Fall Party

It has come to my attention that there are a few misconceptions regarding what the fall party actually is. It may first be helpful then to tell you what the party is not: it is not a formal dance that requires a date or fancy outfit, and it is not merely a Friday version of bar night.

The fall party is the big social event of the SBA calendar this semester. The SBA is for us, as in the "whole-student-body" us, and consequently the party is for us and our friends. We, the royal we, gather together as many people as are interested in spending time with each other. We talk, we drink, we dance, we drink, and then we repeat these activities in whichever order our individual volitions direct us. No more, no less. If you like your classmates, and you like going out to bars, there truly is no better way to combine these interests – unless you like drinking in class. But if that's the case, we need to have a whole other sort of conversation. Anyways, SBA Fall Party, it's a great time. Please come on out and enjoy.

2. Clarifying the Previous Message

It has also come (more clearly) to my attention that one striking characteristic of a cozy environment like ____ is how fast word can spread, how quickly it can reach interested parties. And through a variety of channels, it has been brought to my attention that my last message did not exactly win everyone over. In fact, I'd venture to say that some people even outright disliked it. Since I actually have that exact sentiment on good authority, it's not too long of a limb to go out on. I'm usually pretty risk averse anyway.

Well then, let me speak in no uncertain terms: it was a joke. Maybe you're thinking to yourself: "But jokes are funny." Fair enough. I thought that shit was hilarious. But then, I often laugh at my own jokes as my conversation-counterparts check out their shoes and figure out the politest way to leave.

Plus I get a big kick out of quoting movies and draping myself in egomaniacal language. So it goes.

Perhaps proper introductions are in order. My name is ____ – I'm the SBA Activities Coordinator. It may also be said that I'm the more nefarious element of the quasi-student group known as ________. I won't bore you with the details of the ________ right now. We have a myspace page, we have a facebook thingy, check it out if you like. The point is, I sometimes write emails. And they're usually long. And they're usually tongue-in-cheek mean. And they are always geared toward rallying a few students for some upcoming event.

And the short version of this is this: I don't want to trigger scuttlebutt. I don't wish to engender rumblings of ill will among the vox populi. It's sorta the exact opposite. I want many many many people to go the Fall Party. I'm a cheerleader for this school – I seriously effin' heart the place, the community, and I want it to thrive. There, I said it.

I did not mean to actually insult anyone. Yes, clearly, I took a few pot shots that could reasonably be interpreted as offensive. Wasn't the goal, wasn't seriously considered, and wasn't even fathomed. And maybe therein lies the problem – I failed to consider my audience. And once more, an introduction is in order: Hello, my name is ____. I am often seen roaming the halls of ____, having potentially inane conversations (ranging from "which Van Damme movies rules the hardest" to "what are the merits of the latest SCOTUS ruling" – realistically, I talk about Van Damme probably just as much as I do the Supreme Court), and I often look in need of a shave and a fashion coach. My humor is in large-part based on being a prick. I list Bill Hicks among my heroes. If you don't know Bill Hicks, and you're not going to the Fall Party, then I sincerely recommend you instead spend tonight downloading Arizona Bay, rocking some big canister-style headphones, and praying your brain doesn't implode from how ridiculously bad ass that album is.

Anyway, back to the point. Many of you don't know who I am. Consequently, I probably just seem like some useless jackass who writes preposterously long messages about parties (case in point). That might make me a douche, that might make me lame or immature, that might even make me a fratbag asshole.

Nevertheless, I sought to attract Party Participants and the irony is that I may have turned people off of the idea of coming to the Fall Party, despite my best intentions. Well that just sucks, especially since, you know, that's like the exact opposite goal I had in mind, hence the aforementioned irony. The first among us to discover the ability to time travel should go back to 1996 and tell Alanis Morissette that this situation is much more apropos for a hook.

So yea, I don't think I knew my audience. Mistake one. And I assumed my audience knew me. Mistake two. If this applies to you, it can all be changed by attending the Fall Party! Confront me. Call me out. Share a drink and a conversation. It'll be easy to spot me – I'll be the ugly-mugged douche in a burgundy suit drinking Canadian whisky like it's going out of style and making my mark on the night by mixing up self-congratulatory flattery with self-deprecating honesty, and laughing and smiling the entire time.

If you have any concerns regarding the _______, my emails, or anything else really, feel free to personally contact me. ______@gmail.com. I am more than happy to directly engage you on any of these matters, and truth be told, I'd prefer that to the back channels. In the words of another hero of mine, Tupac Amaru Shakur, "holla at me."


Once more, hope to see you all tonight! If not, have a great weekend. And again, it's late, apologies for any typos or errors. That is all.

B3.

Fall Party E-Melee.

So once a semester, the Student Bar Association throws a massive party. It is usually at a semi-upscale locale, costs $25, and comes with 3 drink tickets. This year, ticket sales to me lagging dramatically, especially among the 1L class. Accordingly, I was called into action by the SBA President and Vice-President to write an email to the student body that would elicit a response likely to result in increased ticket sales. The following is the first of two emails I ended up sending.

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Hello All,

If you are incapable of reading more than a few sentences, then I will offer a synopsis now: Go to the SBA Fall Party this Friday. If fun was quantifiable, it will be a ginormous amount of that stuff. 250 people went last year. I guarantee you will never go to a school event that can match that number. Buy your ticket in the student boulevard. $25 is really not that much if you've ever actually had a drink in this town. In short, the SBA will be putting on a clinic this Friday. What sort of clinic? How about a "good-times" clinic? How about a "rock your face off" clinic? That's the brief overview. Now, if you wish to tickle your frontal lobe, I encourage you to allow your eyes to saunter through the rest of this epic email.

I write to apprise you, in the most flowery way I can, of the awesomeness of the social interaction opportunity that confronts you on the final day of this week - a week thus far marked by great weather as we serenely transition into a growing sense and appearance of Autumn. Some people don't capitalize Autumn, that's really silly.

For the unfamiliar, I am one of your faithful correspondents from the benevolent organization known as __________. We've been markedly silent thus far in the semester, an unfortunate consequence of a few elements coalescing in such a way as to prevent us from sharing with you our pearls of wisdom, our summaries of skullduggery, and our wrap-ups of weekend warriordom. Namely, we're, like, really busy and shit.

But the time has come where our collective voice must be heard. Cover your eyes if your mind cannot handle some serious bad ass literatus. Yea – I just slant rhymed literatus – deal with it.

The event alluded to above (see: reference to awesomeness) is the SBA Fall Party this Friday at ______. in ______.

First: If you have somehow managed to escape all the fliers and people barking at you in the student boulevard, I can only conclude that you've been playing hooky for the past week and a half and you should seriously consider coming back to class.

Second: To the entering class of 2008: Lock it up.

For better or worse, this latest batch of aspiring J.D.-hunters have developed a reputation as an assortment of various shapes and sizes of Debbie and Donny Downers. I say "for better or worse" just to be polite. There is nothing "better" about being a downer. That leaves "worse" and I don't know what you're actually "worse" than. I just know it's rarely a good thing to be worse than someone at anything, unless it's "how to not be awesome." But if that was the case, then the class is doing a great job at being "better." You either get the drift or lost the plot.

The point I'm driving at is that somehow or another, the message has not been impressed enough upon the entering class that this event might quite literally rock collective socks off. I lost a sock* last year, best night of my life. As a self-anointed arbiter of awesome, I feel a certain amount of responsibility for this failure to impress. I hope to some day come to terms with this burden. I'll take it one at a time though, don't worry about me.

1Ls, I'm worried about you. I'm a cynic – I'm not sure you can be swayed at this point. But I want to be proven wrong. I want so many 1Ls at the Fall Party that I eventually have to kick myself in the ass (the cynic's version of a pat on the back) for being so damn witty and enticing in my emails. I want to be surrounded by so many 1Ls that I have synergetic flashbacks to Tarasoff factors. I want to meet so many 1Ls that it becomes really awkward next week when I can't remember your names and you swear to me that "we had the best conversation ever."

Third: For those of you concerned about the $25 price-tag, there is one incredibly obvious retort. Seriously, have you ever gone drinking in San Francisco? It's expensive all over. And happening places often have covers. Go anywhere semi-swank in this town and try to get in the door and back out, with 3 drinks under your belt, for under $25. Not going to happen.

Fourth: I understand that some of you have concerns about studies, or have other engagements in mind. I'm not here to hassle about the pros and cons of spending your Friday night studying when it's not even November. And I'm not going to quibble over the pros and cons of hanging out with a crap-ton (term of art) of cool people at a nice bar. You can throw your wall of excuses at me all you wish, I'll merely respond with the words a wise man once whispered in my ear, "Rule #76: no excuses, play like a champion." It might not have been a whisper, I may have had my ear pressed to a television that was showing Wedding Crashers. Nevertheless, truer words (insert dramatic pause) never spoken.

Fifth: Finally, I've devoted way too much time to this damn email. So it goes. If you made it this far, then you should know, I'm from Washington. Not many people know that. By virtue of hailing from the Pacific Northwest (Alaska is suspended from the club until further notice), I'm pretty sweet. Besides the wicked sweetness that I'll be bringing to the table, I have four of my back-home-crew rolling into town this weekend. I don't know if ______ will be able to handle that much awesome in one building, but we'll certainly test its limits. There's a good chance that they'll consume much of what passes for beer in _____ over the new few days, and that they will no longer be on speaking terms with their livers by the time they leave, but it's going to be so much fun that it won't really matter. I'm offering you yet another incentive to come to the Fall Party – come enjoy my friends, they're ridiculous and great.


It's late, I've never been a fan of proofreading. Apologies for any typos, grammar errors, or any semblance of jackassery that may have slipped through the cracks during the construction of this message.

Hope to see you all this Friday. That is all.

Until next time,

B3


* "Lost a sock" is the latest and greatest euphemism. It roughly translates to "got schmasted and had a glorious time. Dig it."

Chickens Come Home to Roost.

I've been "preparing" for a few weeks the arguments that I had to make over this previous weekend. By preparing, I mean that I pulled an all-nighter when completing the brief, and all-nighter putting together my oral argument materials. Instead of doing the reading, I opted to spend my school nights watching Heroes, Entourage, Sons of Anarchy, and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. And now that Dexter and Californication are back on, there surely was no chance that I was going to devote a reasonable amount of time on the material.

Add on top of that entertainment goodness that I've been enjoying spending weekend afternoon lying around naked with a pretty girl, and a recipe for moot court disaster was bound to happen.

"Disaster" may be an overstatement - I argued twice, lost once. However, given how much shit I had talked to just about anyone who was within earshot at any given moment, I certainly fell short of my own and I'm assuming (hopefully) others' expectations.

So yes, I ended up losing to a kid who has almost no moot court experience and didn't fully grasp the arguments and the questions asked by the judges (not claiming I did), and doesn't speak English as his primary language. Yup. Not sure how that impacted the judges' analysis, but hard to believe it didn't have one effect one way or the other. So it goes. Sucks that I screwed the pooch, doesn't suck that I spent afternoons lying around naked with a pretty girl. You win some, you lose some.

Simply Beautiful.

From a CNN article:

In an interview with CNN this summer, Forester did not hide her distaste for eventual Democratic presidential nominee Barack Obama.

“This is a hard decision for me personally because frankly I don't like him,” she said of Obama in an interview with CNN’s Joe Johns. “I feel like he is an elitist. I feel like he has not given me reason to trust him.”

Forester is the CEO of EL Rothschild, a holding company with businesses around the world. She is married to international banker Sir Evelyn de Rothschild. Forester is a member of the DNC’s Democrats Abroad chapter and splits her time living in London and New York.

Moving On.

I think I'm going to quit The Job tomorrow.

With 14 units and extracurriculars, I'm putting in more time than I did first year. And since I lack the fear, and the drive, to actually put in the time and effort to stay on top of my reading. I've already fallen close to a collective hundred pages behind. As my friend put it, "I'm declaring reading bankruptcy" and just cutting my losses. So, I'm cutting my losses. I just hope it doesn't fuck my reference, that'd be weak x 10. The Boss just hired two other law clerks last week, so I'm hoping he actually lets me quit clean-break tomorrow, no 2-week notice or any of that. I'm crossing the fingers.

I mean, not only do I have classes to read for, I have beers I want to drink, a girl I'd like to make out with, and a jog I'd like to take every now and then.

Do you know what I've gotten from law school so far? 2 years of education, 16 tattoos, and 25 pounds. Fuck. Yes, I need a jog.

Business Law Background

So school is back and suddenly three weeks have already passed by. I'm constantly regretting my decision to work and take classes, such is life.

I assumed the position of Co-Social Chair for the Business Law Association. My sole motivation was to be have a position of authority regarding the organizing of Business Law's big ass Fall BBQ. I had to provide a short bio of myself to post on their group board. Here is all I had to say:

____ has almost no background or experience in business per se. He worked in a factory for six years, a movie theater for one day, and now a law firm since May '08. ____ does not want to practice transactional law. Instead, he would like to some day own and operate his own business. That business could be a law practice or a bar, either is fine and neither have to be located in this country as long as he can have a Guinness tap installed within a short walking distance. That is ____'s definition of "taking care of business.

uSheep.

From my office window I can see a line wrapping around the block down the street. It hasn't shrunk since I got here at 9:30 this morning. I haven't bothered to verify why this line exists, but I'm pretty sure it has to do with the release of the new iPhone.

While the trend of waiting in atrociously long lines for electronics is disturbing on a number levels, not the least being what this phenomenon implies about our culture more broadly, there is only word needed to describe this behavior: Disgusting.

Ugh.

It is not always unfair to think that lawyers are really lame.

The Birthday Weekend Wrap-up .

The Good: Got notice that I received a scholarship for my third year. It isn't much, but every bit helps. Struck up a gchat conversation with my current crush, The Wee One. I was a bit drunk when I did it, but it was so early in the day that it would have been garish for her to assume as much. The Wee One is 28 - which doesn't help me. But she's also really tiny, so, I don't know if that helps or not, but it seems like it should. I have at least 6 inches on her, so if you gives me 2 inches for every year, we're about even. No phone calls or bodily fluids have been exchanged - just a few rounds of repartee. She is clever that one. I also got the Ego Stroke of the Month on the 4th at a friend's bbq. I think at least three of the pretty babies were digging my shit. Of course, I played the awkward shy guy, because well, it felt natural. Anyways, my shit was dug, which was a great independence-day-pick-me-up from the pile of crap that was the 3rd.

The Bad: My actual birthday was a shitshow. I was miserable all day. I couldn't stop thinking about how much shit I don't have together right now, how lonely I consistently am and how unaccomplished I really am. The workday was a flood of realizations of what a bad friend I regularly am. I was mopey as hell because so many people didn't remember my birthday, yet I remember almost no one's birthday, let alone message the people facebook reminds are having birthdays. I never call anyone or do anything thoughtful for them, and I rarely let my friends know how much I care about them, which begs the question whether I actually do, yet another shitty thing to think about. Law school has been an incredibly selfish experience in a lot of respects, and it goes without saying that that is really lame.

Anyways, after beating myself up all day about what a terrible fucking person I am, I made another brilliant decision: I allowed myself to be talked into going to a local watering hole instead of sitting at home all night drinking Black Velvet, playing FIFA '06, and listening to Get Up Kids records. After the friends had bought a few rounds, things start to get hazy. I vaguely remember beginning to sob uncontrollably at my barstool. I was later told that I was pretty good for a second about keeping it discreet. But crying in a bar can only go unnoticed for so long I suppose. I was "carried home" and unceremoniously dumped onto my bed with a cup full of water and a bottle of Bayer on my table, which was a strange scene to wake up to because I usually get too far in the bag to remember to lay out such luxuries by myself. I'm coping with 25 - but I really don't like it.

And dwarfing all my petty concerns about growing up and getting my shit together, my friend's mother passed away over the weekend, and just thinking about what she's going through right now makes me want to cry and drink at the same time and the only problem is deciding which to do first. I didn't know her mother, I think I only met her once. But the idea that someone I know, like, and respect is having to deal with what I am certain is one of the worst experiences someone can go through makes my heart ache and serves as a reminder as to just how silly and inane most of my grievances with life are. Gah.

The Ugly: I shaved my beard. And on the morning of the 5th, I woke up on the living room couch, TV on, and two bags of Jack in the Box sitting in front of me: one empty, the other not.

Judicial Quote of the Day.

Found this nugget while conducting research on a boring topic:

"The fact that Holmgren and the class members performed the same duties as civil service employees has nothing to do with the price of tomatoes."

Sadly, my research topic dealt with civil servants, and not the price of tomatoes.

The Big Two Five.

So I turn 25 tomorrow. Not sure how I feel about that. I will have lived a quarter of a century, ten of which has been of 'dating age,' and I have yet to get into a relationship that lasted past 60 consistent days. Jesus. I was told last year that that statistic is now a "red flag." The last thing I need to start raising is red flags, that won't solve shit. I need to waive white flags, flags that make clear that I'm not committed to my make-out-slut ways and am ready to give 2 months a serious go. I've ranted so many times in-person and online to whoever would pay attention that I don't want to taint this blog with that crap.

And the Sonics are moving to OKC, fucking hell. If I were of the praying persuasion, I would pray that Clay Bennett (otherwise known as "rotten son of a bitch")loses his entire wad on this venture. In fact, because I appreciate irony, I hope he loses so much money that the only way to salvage the situation is to sell the team back to Seattle owners just in order to avoid being liable for the entire $70 million settlement. Eff that guy.

My weekend consisted of partying with friends from back home. Drank whisky, argued with people over something to do with Croatia, browned out a little here and there, attended a warehouse party that was being held in a place that is usually in the business of working on cars, watched Germany lose, walked around town, and watched the entire first season of Californication. While the show was compelling, David Duchovney as some sort of mega-magnet for pretty birds is a bit tough to believe. But hey, more power to him. I only sorta made out with someone, grabbed one boob for 3 seconds, and sat around. A lot. Happy birthday.

Ethics + Briefs.

For the life of me, I do not see myself ceasing with the giggles whenever my professional responsibility professor acknowledges violating one of the ethics rules.

The Boss had me read close to 140 pages yesterday in briefs, and wondered what was taking me so long to get it done. Apparently, reading every line on every page is not the norm. Duly noted.

The Hammer Falleth + Ego Boost of the Week.

So it finally came, a phone call from my mom or dad regarding a situation most would not discuss in polite company. It was my dad who fell upon the unseemly scene: "I found a couple of used condoms in the back of your truck."

Yup.

The last time I was home and visiting friends and family and had access to my vehicle, I fell into an opportunity to use condoms and the only viable venue happened to be under the canopy in the back of my pickup truck. Not totally proud to be reduced to trying to wet-hump a bird on the side of a public street, not totally embarrassed about it either though. However, what is embarrassing is forgetting to clean up the evidence before heading out-of-state back to school, thus leaving your truck in the sole possession of your parents, who happen to be caring enough to occasionally wash and do maintenance on the truck.

Some part of me knew it was only a matter of time before they fell upon the rubs. It has been a year though, so I thought maybe I could slide by until the next time I visited, whereupon I could finally clean up the shit and avoid the potentially awkward phone call. Nope. Not so much. I'm glad it was my Dad though, he can appreciate the humor in the situation. My mother probably would have wanted to know the name and phone number of the girl in case I some day disappear and she can have the number of someone I might be associating with for an evening. She's a worrier like that.

In a somewhat related story, a friend of mine let me crash at her place last Friday, and nothing really happened besides drunkenly passing out whilst cuddling and watching The Sweetest Thing. It was pleasant. The next day was an all-day street-festival bender which involved meeting up with this bird's friend. So we're going along, beer-in-cup in hand, when my friend releases a line that simultaneously makes me look a bit scummy and makes my head more difficult to get through doors: "So, should I be offended that you've hooked up with half of law school and you didn't make a move on me last night?" Okay, so I tried playing it down verbally, you know, that whole "modesty" deal, but it was tough as shit to wipe the smile off my face.

Crazy in the Park.

Saw another crazy in the park, similar to the last one I saw, but slightly different.

This guy had long frazzled hair choked into a pony tail. He was wearing khakis and a Hawaiian shirt, and WIELDING A SWORD. He seemed to be practicing some sort of martial art. I guess anything in which a sword is being used is martial by default. The "art" aspect of it was suspect, but who am I to belittle a man brave or crazy enough to practice his sword skills in a public square while wearing such a hideous outfit.

Again, this was in broad daylight (though I suppose it'd be more unsettling to see this same dude at night).

And again, I'm begrudgingly happy to live in a city that tolerates such craziness.

Headphones & the City.

I like having headphones at most points of the day. I do it frequently. I also frequently break my headphones, so I've avoided making a habit of buying nice headphones because of my tendency to be so reckless with them.

I usually like to jam out and drown out all the garbage-noise going on around me. I don't find most conversations to be interesting, mainly because I'm not a part of them, they're not about me, and they usually don't involve a subject of which I can relate to. Granted, this may be because I feel like I can't relate to many conversations that don't directly involve sex & failing relationships, the law, drinking, or a combination of those things. But still, most people have boring conversations in public.

But, a big but, there is definitely something to be said for listening to the sounds of your city. So sometimes I ride the bus or go to lunch without the headphones, just to get a sense of where I am and what's going on. While I'll never fail to appreciate how walking around with headphones can have the effect of transforming your experiences into a movie scene, I'll try to balance that out with hearing Cindy and Nancy drone on about how the crepes were too expensive, or Chuck's latest move on the investment-portfolio front.

In more entertaining and sad news, since I was paying so much attention to the lack of sex over the past year, I failed to mention/notice that I hadn't really dated someone in over a year. Jesus.

Here's hoping a summer fling springs up sooner rather than later.

First Solo Contact with a Client.

Memo

To: The Boss
From: The Law Clerk
Subject: Summary of phone call with Client X.
Date: June 6, 2008.

I called Client X at 3:05pm on June 6, 2008. I asked her whether she had received the Substitution of Attorney form that we faxed to her earlier in the week. She indicated that she had received it and is not happy about the arrangement.

She expressed a misunderstanding of her relationship with you. She said that she requested your services and contracted with you to take her case in case Mr. HerActualLawyer "could not be there." She seems to misunderstand the arrangement that you had with Mr. HerActualLawyer. She took issue with your characterization of the relationship as "consultant" and said that her understanding is that you were/are her attorney along with Mr. HerActualLawyer.

Her misapprehension of your role in her case was further highlighted when she said she feels her case has been "disregarded" by you, and mentioned that no "papers with the court" had been filed under your name. She is in the process of trying to secure another attorney. It was not clear whether her attempts to secure alternative counsel was in response to Mr. HerActualLawyer's substitution-out or your notice to substitute out. At several points she said "I want my money back," and said she hired you "on contingency." It was unclear whether she wanted the full retainer back, or just what is left of the refund as indicated in the substitution form. I assured her if she returns the substitution form by Monday, you will promptly send her the refund. She responded by saying she needs time to find another attorney for the case management conference on Tuesday. It appeared as if she was not informed of the case management conference potentially being delayed, and without confirmation of the order, I did not feel I should apprise her of the possibility.

She indicated that she would be willing to return the substitution form upon receipt of her money. I told her that you would return the refund upon receipt of the substitution form. She said she "needs time" and should have another attorney secured by "Monday or Tuesday."

I informed her that you would have to file a motion to withdraw if she did not return the substitution form by Monday. She said she wants all the paperwork that we have from her case, and threatened to go to the State Bar if the motion to withdraw was filed before she returned the substitution form and found another attorney.

She generally and at several points expressed dissatisfaction with the current situation, and moreover seemed distraught about her son's case. The conversation ended before I could ask if she definitively had any intention of returning the substitution form by Monday.

I did not want to take liberties in clarifying Client X's above mentioned misunderstandings and at this point I am unsure of whether a direct phone call from you would do much to assuage her frustration.

Bullshit Law of the Day.

Cal. Bus. & Prof. Code § 6106.1. Advocating to overthrow government cause for disbarment or suspension.

Advocating the overthrow of the Government of the United States or of this State by force, violence, or other unconstitutional means, constitutes a cause for disbarment or suspension.

What the hell? I think that should be superseded by a Thomas Jefferson gem:

The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time, with the blood of patriots and tyrants.It is its natural manure.

Good 'ole T.J.Always there to help out in a ethical pinch. I fervently hope that one day I bear witness to a case in which an attorney sees advocating the overthrow of the government as a viable and necessary argument for his client.

Professional Responsibility.

So I'm sitting in my first night of professional responsibility, aka the class I have to take to make sure I can afford rent this summer.

My professor is opening up with explaining the procedure for complaints to the state bar, and she says that the current state bar prosecutor is very tough, and that she's only been able to work deals for some of her clients by "shucking and jiving."

Shucking and Jiving: -noun Slang.

misleading or deceptive talk or behavior, as to give a false impression.

Acknowledging the use of shucking and jiving while professing the importance of professional responsibility? Pure lovely fucking irony.

Third Day at Work.

So I finished summarizing a depo this morning and am now revising the memo I completed yesterday about waiting time penalties and yada yada yada.

More importantly, I had an inkling of this yesterday, but confirmed it today, even the receptionist at this little office is packing a rockin' bod. No matter where my future takes me in relation to this firm, the least I should do is stay in touch if for no other reason than to make sure I have close access to all the babes this guy hires.

Bossman won't be in until 2. Once I finish revising this memo, I'm not sure what the hell I'll be doing.

Side note: A man wearing a v-neck t-shirt tends to prove that he is more likely than not a turd. That is all.

Second Day at Work.

Further proof The Boss is a hornball: I get in today and meet the contract attorney he's hired. She doesn't look a day over 26, her body could stop traffic, and she has a nice eastern European name to go along with her central European face.

And I forgot to mention about lunch the other day, he also asked me if I "smoked dope." I don't, and I figured it was some sort of "you look like a lil pot smoker!" question, so I didn't hesitate in saying "no."

"Do you drink?"

"That I do. I prefer to have just the one vice."

"Oh ok. Well ____ (sub-tenant attorney friend of his) and I like to smoke a little dope after a good victory."

Good to know.

First Day at Work.

Either my boss is incredibly loose with the language, or he feels immediately comfortable with me. I'm thinking it's a little bit of both.

So today was my first day at The Office. I feel somewhat douchey even using that phrase, but I guess it was inevitable that I would have to actually start working at a firm, as opposed to just reading and talking about them endlessly. My boss is old, like wrinkly balls old. His lunch-date canceled on him today, so he offered to take me out. As soon as the elevator door closes and we're out of earshot of the other folks in his office, he says to me, "I'm really hungry. I had some great sex last night and played tennis this morning." I've never heard someone so old talking about sex other than Dr. Joyce. I had to chuckle. I mean I wanted to anyway because I think it's funny that he even said something like that on my first day in his office, but to not would red-flag him that I'm some sort of uptight asshat that I'd like to think I'm not. $10 bowl of beef noodle soup later, we're walking back and he's telling me about a twice-widowed Romanian ex-girlfriend of his that he hasn't seen in over 20 years and who happens to be coming into town soon, and how he's sure he's "her primary motivation to come visit." Had a good chuckle about that too. Then he did a 180 on the sidewalk to scope out a passing woman.

Kids, I might just be working for one of the bigger hornballs in this town.

And what better way to cap off a day at The Office? How about 3 chicken strips, 2 cheese sticks, 1 slice of pizza, and 1 Bud Light. Yup, just livin the dream.

The Beginning of the New.

School ended. 2 years down. Job starts tomorrow. Unpaid. That sucks. On Union Square. That's cool. California legalized gay marriage. That's awesome. The rest of the country will probably take a while to follow suit. That is not awesome. Beat the shit out of my liver this weekend with old friends. Old friends were cool, the beaten liver sucks. Broke the no-sex-streak. Only took 11 months. Hopefully the next streak doesn't last as long. Boring entry. This sucks. Dexter is cool though. Later.

Evidence Update.

I take back what I said. Sleep is not overrated. I'm realizing now just how fucked I am for this exam. It is a little under 2 hours away and I feel lost. Not that there was any doubt about how terrible my study habits have been this year, but this feeling is an overwhelming confirmation that I did not properly apply myself this year. Every day was a new chance to change, and nothing ever did. 9 months of skating by, and for the first time, I actually feel hopeless about my chances on an exam.

Not to be dramatic, but if I believed in a god, it'd be about this time that I'd start calling in favors. The only good thing about the situation is that it will be over in 5 hours and be nothing more than another log on the pile of scholastic regrets, hooray!

Assert This Truth!

Sleep is so overrated. Who wants to catch Zs when you have an evidence final to take, now only 5 precious hours away.

I've been especially lax in my preparation for this final, which is incredibly counter-intuitive and downright retarded as it is a 4 unit bar class that makes up almost half of my graded units this semester. Meh, too late to worry about that part, I'm doing what I can at this point to salvage my grade. I'm shooting for a B and I'm banking on 3 things:

1) Very few gunners in the class - Most of the real hotshots on my class opted to take evidence first semester, so I'm getting off a little easier as far as competition is concerned.

2) Anecdotal evidence - Many people have told me they also didn't feel good at all about the material going into the exam and it turned out fine for them. Of course, this is likely the case for a few people for every law exam and there is the distinct possibility that the people who told me they "didn't feel comfortable" still knew a shit-ton (that's a term of art) more than I do right now.

3) Sheer consistency - No matter what level of preparation or comfort I've had with the material for any of my classes, almost all my grades have been in the B range. I study my brains out, B, I slack ass, B.

And on that note, back to the material.

Cobs For the Bums.

While taking a break from "studying,"otherwise known as playing N game, I decided to hit up a BBQ place on one of the mecca-streets of homeless people in this city. It's full of "culture," as long as you like your culture to come in the form of dog shit, panhandlers, and shadows of former selves that smell like gin. I order 2 skewers of the Texas BBQ chicken, which comes with some cobbed corn pieces. The corn was not grand. In short order, I slid those bits off, consumed my chicken, and washed it down with some mac 'n cheese and mashed potatoes. It was sweet.

So I'm sitting there finishing up my delicious glass of water, enjoying a conversation with a babe (ok, so she's only a friend, but I was still seen in public with her, so points for me), when I spot these two street people walking by staring into the restaurant at the various plates of food. They walk to the window closest to my plate, stare down the cobs, and immediately the female half of the duo walks into the joint. She comes to my table, points at a cob and asks, "Can I have one of those?" Knowing I wasn't going to touch any of them, I told her she could have all 3 of the remaining pieces. "Really?" - "Sure" I said. I was impressed with the skill it took for her to snatch all 3 in one greasy palm, but kudos to her, she did it. She said thanks, I told her to "have fun." It was the closest thing I've known to what it must feel like to give out candy at Halloween. Except it was corn on the cob instead of candy, street kids instead of real kids, and a restaurant instead of a private residence. Other than that though, just like Halloween.

Jobs + Exams = Terrible Times.

So I got my first rejection notice today. It wasn't a full-on rejection, but it realistically is as far as my circumstances are concerned: "We have filled our paid position, but if you can bring your own funding..."

Gah, it's not that I expect to just fall into whatever sweet gig I want, but I hate rejection. Hate hate hate.

And my first final is tomorrow. Joy to the world. No job, no bird, no money, not really on top of my school-shit, and no drinky-drink until finals are done? Fucking lame.

Quoting the Profs.

So since the year is at a close as far as classes are concerned, I thought it relevant to post some of the choice quotes from my classes this year. Most of them actually came from one old curmudgeon of a remedies professor, but he's a goldmine, so it's to be expected. Enjoy.

“Part of capitalism is the big guy screwing the little guy.”

“God help us, there’s no one in a litigation who isn’t suffering emotional damage.” (referring to plaintiffs who claim emotional damage as a result of having to pursue litigation).

“And tort law, which has a bit of a religious flavor to it.”

“Is there a difference between a prudent man and a prudent woman?”

“And if you need a potty break, well you just go ahead and take it.”

“Maybe Colorado on a bad day. They do some strange things in Colorado. Colorado and Hawaii: both places where they smoke too much dope. It’s true!”

“Being broke is the ultimate defense.”

“He may get an award, but he’s going to take a sizable haircut on it.”

“What frosts my cookies is…”

“I’m not subject to your policy you friggin’ idiot.”

“...which is why you should always be an oil company.”

“Most lawyers have the dream that their retirement case will walk into their office, rather be wheeled into their office.”

“The greedy little bastard.”

“And the lawyer’s firm, Dewey, Fleeceum, and Howe.”

“There are no underpaid medical insurance executives…there are no such people.”

“Even if your profession is theology, you don’t get everyone up to heaven.”

“What’s with this chair? I can’t get my large fanny into it.”

“Did you do discovery as provided by the statute? No? Well you’re fucked.”

“Do unto others before they do you.”

“Be a man, whatever you sex you are, be a man, take the bar here.”

“Chime in children!” (calling out a group of silent students)

“I wasn’t serious about nailing it to their foreheads, that’s not the proper way to serve.”

“The security staff, sometimes spelled goon squad.”

“What if I bought a hat that read: ‘Convict the Bastard!’ Embroidered, nice embroidery.”

“ ‘I just stabbed the Dean’ is not a dying declaration, ‘cause I don’t believe my death is imminent.”

“Incest is not the same as rape.”

“I wasn’t really arrested, but I was fingered.”

“Lock up the mafia and you lose some good restaurants.”

Sexin'!

"I got this icebox where my heart used to be." ~ Omari I. Grandberry

So it has been roughly 10.5 months since the last time I had sex. A 'dry-spell' would be polite.

I don't want to sound too pathetic. It's not that I haven't been without opportunity. But I do believe I've swung back toward my ole pre-'05 ways and am now affected with the idea that sex needs to be more than just fucking. If I wanted to be fucking, I could be fucking. I have officially had a relapse into concerns about "trust" and "emotional investment." Yea, I know, I feel weak just saying it.

Lately, I get drunk and maybe I end up necking with a bird. Maybe she plays with my junk, maybe she doesn't. But all the times it has gotten to the point where I get asked whether I "have a condom" or not, even if I do, I find a way of deflecting the idea and passing out. Passing out is easy when you only ever fool around with birds while well over the legal limit.

I'm seriously thinking about pushing it the extra 1.5 months to make it one year. It wouldn't be too hard as it would only involve, barring unforeseen circumstances, not having sex with the birds I'm pretty sure I could have had sex with a long time ago if I had gone along with the standard script. I think I could pull that off. Of course, if some lovely lady came into my life, adjustments would have to be considered and compromises would likely have to be made. In other words, if the right bird came along, I'd be fucking like a rabbit.

The irony of the dry-spell is that I still hear rumors about the girls I've supposedly had sex with. I partially feel like a douche even having to address such shit, but I figure it's better than ignoring it and running the risk of anyone thinking I'm telling anyone about the sex I'm not having with anyone. Yea. And as the rumors continue to spread, I look less and less credible. "Hi. My name is ____ and I'm a make out slut." Since when does a kiss mean fucking? Did I miss that memo?

Finals Have Arrived.

There is no denying it now, it is time to study for finals. I have two in-class and one take home. I kicked off the reading period proper-like last night. One bottle of Boone's Farm, one and a half Totino's, two episodes of Sex and the City, and 10 pages of His Excellency before passing out.

Remedies on the 29th, Evidence on the 7th, Arbitration on the 10th. After that? Still no job.

Job Hunt.

"One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important."
~Bertrand Russell

So one of the deals about being in a professional school is that you're supposed to be geared toward being professional, go figure. It is at this part that I officially suck. Specifically, while many of my classmates have been tracking down, interviewing for, and eventually obtaining jobs over the course of the year, I have not. I had a job-hunting plan in place since mid-Fall. I had planned on implementing it no later than January. The plan was to square away Friday afternoons as I didn't have class and I figured it'd be less of a brain drain than doing real classwork, so it a seemed reasonable plan. Fridays since then? 15. Fridays actually spent looking for a job? 0. This wouldn't be so troublesome if I had just slid the job-hunt-work to another day of the week, or made it up on different days here and there. But that didn't happen. Not a day, not even a half.

What was I doing that was so much more important? I could blame it on classwork, moot court, or student group obligations. But that would be a stretch. The truth is I've never had to conduct an actual "job search," I've never had to exist in a professional setting for more than a short stretch (thus am wholly unfamiliar with the ins and outs of the etiquette), and I've been plain fucking lazy about completing the proper documents and looking for places that might be smart enough to take me on.

And now, "desperate" would be the operative word. My primary criteria in an employer right now is receiving payment for my services. You would think this is rather simple, not so much at this stage in the game. I need a notch on the "experience" section of my resume, which gives employers leverage this close to summer. But I'm not worthless. I'm capable, not stupid, and I give a shit. These are valuable traits, I think. How the hell do I know. Personally, if I could get some cash by drinking whisky and cheap beer and having moot-court-esque arguments in bars around the city, I'd much rather be doing that. Guess fucking what, no one is hiring for that position. I know, it was shocking to me too.

Here's hoping I can land something soon and don't end up having to become more familiar with baristanese in order to afford rent this summer.

Pizza Eating Etiquette.

The staple food for an overwhelming amount of the meetings and events that occur at my school is pizza. It is cheap, easy, people generally like it, and you can always find a place willing to deliver 4-10 pies. When there are slices left at the conclusion of any of these meetings and/or events, the remaining pizza is usually placed in the student lounge, whereupon it is attacked by students like a pack of wild vultures descending on the carcass of something that has been freshly-hit on the desert highway. It is really a spectacle, and I'd be a liar if I denied ever having participated in the orgy of hunger a few times myself.

However, a chronic problem that accompanies these feasts is the matter of disposing of the box. Besides proving to be incredibly frustrating to all those hapless students who open it hoping to find just one more slice, it is just plain rude and ugly to leave the box lying around. I have a simple solution for this. If a person takes the last slice from the box, and fails to immediately throw that box away (in one of the many garbage cans that adorn our student lounge), that person should be drug out into the street and shot. Now, this will seemingly be difficult to implement since almost no one in this city has a gun. In lieu of a failure to procure a loaded firearm, one can substitute the "shot" part of the punishment with a swift kick to the teeth.

This punishment may seem draconian and harsh for some. But I tell you what, the first time someone gets kicked in the mouth for not throwing a box away will be the last time someone will fail to throw the box away. Or maybe I can go back and find the knife-fighting guy in the park, I bet that genius has some great insight into how I can solve this problem.

Park & Knives.

Walking through the park the other day, I saw a man who looked to be imitating Steven Segal in a knife fight. He was actually wielding two full sized blades and throwing himself around like a drunk ballet dance. He was wearing sweatpants. Upon completion of that round of practice (I'm assuming I caught only a small chunk of the total scene), he sat down on a bench next to a man wearing a camouflage jacket and hat.

Part of me likes the idea that I live in a city that tolerates so much craziness that a man with big knives doing interpretive dance in a public square is not a major cause for concern. The other part of me says it's not 100% kosher to let fucking crazies, with no concern for their appearance (see above: sweatpants, seriously?), dance around like a tweaker while menacingly carrying mini-machetes and associating with either a poser veteran, or a real veteran hanging out in the park during the middle of the day, both of which are troubling. Just saying.

Sympathy for the Devil.

This whole polygamist ranch thing has been fascinating to me. Initially, I was pretty disturbed that over 400 children could be taken from their families on the allegations of one person. I recognize the dangers in not taking the children if the allegations are true, but until something else is substantiated, it appears to me like this particular allegation is carrying more water simply because the community it is against happens to be on the fringes of society, which generally smacks of “lame” to me.

That being said, I had to remind myself today of where my sympathies should be. I think many religious folks are bat-shit nuts, and this sect appears to be especially heinous as they’re (if the allegations are true) using their faith to justify statutory rape and child molestation. I read that 400 teenage boys were recently excommunicated for various reasons. But the cynics are saying they were excommunicated simply because there isn’t enough women so that every adult male can have multiple males. If that’s true, jesus tits, I’ll save by breath and keep my concerns about them being treated differently to myself, save my do-gooder rants for a more worthy cause.

I’m sure there is a family somewhere in that compound that hasn’t broken any sexual assault laws, and it’s a shame that their kids got swept up in the whole mess because of all the other crap going on. But come on, if you wanted to avoid the potential of your kids being taken away by CPS, you probably should have chosen to live somewhere other than a polygamy compound owned by a group that, until last year, has been led by a dude who was on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted List for activities related to being an accomplice to rape and sexual conduct with minors. What a winner.

I don't what I'm saying anymore. Anyways, yea, those people are nuts, and I'm going to continue following this story.

Jumping the Gun.

Clearly, I may have staked out my position too early in this campaign.

Shut Up & Get Me A Beer.

There was just a baby in the library. At one point, it sounded like it got dropped, and it started to cry loudly. The mother, in all her obvious wisdom, instead of taking the child outside, proceeded to walk through the book stacks and continue her search for whatever she was looking for (perhaps child support enforcement actions?). Then in order to calm the little fucker down, she gives it a toy. Not just any toy, a toy that makes noises, many different yet all annoying noises. I haven't had the urge to kick something so strong since I was at my last rock show and "out the jams" was what I was kicking.

Tonight is a birthday party. The theme is "your favorite drink." I am apathetic about this theme. I was going to go easy-out route and just wear one of my whisky shirts. My friend suggested I go as whisky dick: "Dude, just wear the shirt and be a real big asshole to everyone, they'll get it eventually."

That's actually usually what I do when I drink too much whisky anyways, and a night of serious drinking almost always ends up in me being ostensibly useless to a bird, except for making out. I am a make out slut.

Law School Rankings.

Well, my school slipped off the top 100 in the US and World News Rankings last month. Saaaweet.

Law school rankings are like emotionally unavailable birds. When you're rationally thinking about it, you know they're no good. You know they are bound to bite you in the ass and disappoint you time and time again. Even after our high bar pass rate this year, our stellar reviews from the ABA, and our drastic improvement in the moot court competitions over the past couple of years, somehow these things don't add up to a strong reputation among the people who fill out those fucking surveys.

"Reputation" makes up 40% of a school's ranking. The most subjective factor is also the most important, that makes so much sense I think I'm gonna puke.

Presidential Elections Part 5 - The Conclusion.

So since I was out of town for most of the past week, I was unable to continue campaigning. I was still able to garner roughly 15% of the vote. For a Presidential run that didn't get off the boards until halfway through the first day of voting, on a ballot I wasn't even listed, in a school where too many people are too hippie to hate Canada, I'd say I did fairly well.

I've also had a few people notify that I actually offended some folks. Some at the whole concept of a mock campaign, and some because I mocked Canada. The complaint as reported to me, "If that was a Mexican flag being crossed out, people would be pissed." Well, it wasn't a Mexican flag. It was a Canadian flag. It's big, white, and boring. And right next to us. And I can't think of a more politically acceptable country to make fun of. Interestingly enough, for all these people I've heard about that have problems with me taking Canada to task, not a one has come to talk to me about it. I would relish the opportunity, but I imagine any Canadian sympathizer is too passive to actually have a confrontation.

Moot Court Back in Action.

So after all the chaos that was my regional moot court competition, the organizers decided to throw us a bone and invite us as an exhibition team. This meant we didn't get to actually compete, that we have to help bailiff other rounds, but that at least we got a trip to D.C. on the school's dime and it turns out we were the only American school to get an exhibition team invitation. I'm sure it has to do with how badly we felt shafted at regionals and this invitation was their way of trying to buy us off. Well, I have my price, and it is room, board, and a plane ticket.

Since we weren't actually competing anymore, I took the opportunity to get shit-housed a couple of times. My team "argued" against schools from Ethiopia, Mexico, and France. Our judges don't get told that we're only exhibition teams, so when they did find out, they were usually quite surprised that we weren't still in the competition.

The last night there, I ended up in a hotel room for a South American sausage fest. Chilean dudes, Argentinian dudes, Uruguayan dudes, 1 UK/French dude, me, and 2 of my female teammates. They were pieces of meat, I had the least attractive accent in the room. Our shuttle departed at 5 am, our flight was at 7:45. I was told I was getting "out of control." No teeth lost, no shirts torn, all luggage packed: win.

Presidential Elections Part 4.

After telling the Chief of the Sports and Entertainment Law Association that I was catching flack from The Machine about having so many posters up, he told me not to worry about it and to place the blame on him if any more shit came down the pipe. He told me he was originally planning on doing the same routine for some random 1L [which might have been hilarious if he would have picked someone with a low profile, something my penchant for whisky and flagrant comments precludes me from having around these parts], but when I told him of my mock anti-Canada campaign, he figured he'd run with it.

And he did not take kindly to the idea that the SBA would try to restrict his speech, or try to hold me accountable for his independent actions. I came out of the library and found this latest poster on the bulletin boards.



Well shit, if it wasn't on before, the Viceroy has officially been served.

By making fun of the process, I started something that has generated more interest in, and buzz about, the elections than they were ever able to muster on their own. I still think that's funny, but it's also sad and a bit of an indictment of how apathetic the student body here has become. And by paying attention to it, the SBA has only stoked the flames, should have just kept ignoring me.

Presidential Elections Part 3.

So the shit has hit the election fan. My joke, my comical quasi-not-really-if-you-read-the-fine-print campaign is taking on a life of its own, ruffling feathers, creating confusion, stoking a little bit of drama, and otherwise raising questions about the SBA Constitution and potentially eventually free speech.

I get to school today and the Sports and Entertainment Law guys had placed about 10-12 posters, all bearing my name, around the school.

The SBA election rules state that a candidate can only have 4 posters total, and that a candidate is responsible for all posters bearing his name. Even if a 3rd party put them up, you are responsible for those posters because that person became your agent upon using your name, and those posters count against your total. A violation of this rule is grounds for disqualification from the race.

Well, I don't know a whole lot about agency law, but I find it hard to believe that anyone can become my agent by merely putting my name on the damn poster. If that was the case, and I was actually running, I would (on the sly) tell someone to put up 100 posters with my opponent's name, rely on the plain and ordinary understanding of the election rules, and request they be disqualified.

In any event, Darth President and his Viceroy (otherwise known as the officially unopposed candidate) are none too pleased with the posters that were put up on my behalf because they lack the fine print language making clear that I'm not actually running for President. The Viceroy has made clear that the joke has gone too far, that he considers me "in the race" and that I need "to play by the rules." I tried convincing him that playing by "the rules" was only important if I actually was running, which I'm not. He's irritated, frustrated because people aren't taking the system serious and that at how my "campaign" is moving beyond my direct control.

I found the problem in the SBA Constitution just now. The Constitution provides that eligibility for office is based on gathering 25 student signatures and a letter of academic good standing from the Registrar, and submitting both forms to the President before the candidate registration due date. "Write in" candidates are allowed, but they must have satisfied all the form-requirements of a regular candidate, and submitted the forms to the President prior to the commencement of voting. This creates an opportunity for anyone who missed the first deadline to still be eligible for office, and still be allowed to campaign, but their name will not appear on the ballot.

So the big fuck-up of it all is that Darth President misapprehended the SBA Constitution and assumed "write ins" could be added to the ballot, regardless of whether that person had submitted the proper forms or not. When the first vote was cast, and no write-ins had submitted the proper forms, eligibility was set and it was pointless to include a write in section on the ballot. I am Constitutionally barred from holding an elected office on the SBA, so is anyone else not currently listed on the ballot. But because they have so clumsily handled it, I am operating in this strange limbo where it is not totally clear (to them or most anyone else) whether I am allowed to have posters up or not.

Furthermore, I'm still taking this lightly, all fun and games for me. But if push comes to shove, it's total bullshit if they try to restrict a 3rd party's political speech, regardless if they act in my name or not.

I recognize that all of this is, to a large extent, petty, inconsequential, obnoxious, and silly. But it really only became that when the SBA started taking the joke serious and failed to realize that my "campaign" can have absolutely no real impact on the outcome of the election.

Presidential Elections Part 2.

My campaign is picking up steam. I received an endorsement from a student group: the Sports and Entertainment Law Association. The group is comprised almost entirely of 3L guys from the kickball team I play on, but that matters not! They have chosen me to endorse. They are 100% behind my anti-Canada platform. In addition to sending out a message to their email list, their President has created this magnificent piece of material:



I told the heir apparent that if I manage to scrap together 10 votes, I'm declaring a moral victory. He told me if I manage to get 10% of the votes, he's no longer my friend. Leave it to a Canadian to get huffy-puffy about democracy in action.

Presidential Elections.

So SBA elections are going on now. Almost all of the positions are unopposed, save Vice President. While most of the position are inconsequential, SBA President actually packs some punch. Besides institutional powers such as appointing all Committee chairs, the President receives a big scholarship/tuition break. My friend is running unopposed for that spot, and he's a Canadian. Now I think he's running unopposed because most people either:

a) Don't care.
b) Don't think they can beat him.
c) Think he is the best person for the job.

I probably fall mostly into c). He gives a shit, he's competent, and he's been around the system for the past two years. That said, I was really disappointed that no one challenged him for the throne. In a ploy to exercise free speech, mock the system and the ridiculousness of so many unopposed positions, and to hopefully ruffle some feathers, I decided to run a mock campaign based solely on making fun of Canada. I have multiple posters that include a cross-out symbol of the Canadian flag, followed by a quote about or by Canadian, followed by my obnoxious and simple retorts.

Example: "Canadians do not like heroes, and so they do not have them."

~George Woodcock,

That would be followed by, "Have a hero! Vote for _____ for President." I have others, they're not much better.

And in order to prove to myself that people fail to read the fine print, the word "President" is followed by "ially appointed Social Chair" on every poster. So really, I'm not actually campaigning to be President, I already know my friend is going to appoint me to Social Chair, but I am looking to get a few votes just for shits and giggles.

Below is a poster another friend of mine made me, that I am going to hang up tomorrow. I am not going to put any words on it, and let the image speak for itself.

New Underwear.

I bought a couple packs of new underwear a while back. I had two size options 28-32, or 34-36. Now I think I comfortably fit into 33, I'm talking like not tight, but not gonna fall off my ass type comfortable. I own a few pair of boxers that are on the higher end of the waist-measurement scale and I can't stand having loose [note: that is how to properly use "loose," makes me want to puke when people use loose when they clearly meant "lose." No one ever looses anything.] elastic, and thinking maybe I'm not as thick in the mid-section as I've been hoping I'm not, I opted for the 28-32 option. And I don't mean opt like I bought one pair because I was in a pinch and needed clean boxers, I mean I bought six new pairs, which is essentially a year's worth of investing in underwear for me.

Not a great idea. I was too confident, too hopeful, and too vain to acknowledge that 28-32 is for the younger and thinner version of me. These sonsofbitches are so narrow that I have to wiggle and wrangle them over my hips. Sure, my waist may still be a 32, but my hips certainly aren't. So every morning I'm forced by dirty laundry to put one of these new pairs on, I have do a Van Damme esque dance, sans the face punches. And the legs on these things are ridiculous. I don't need an outrageous and obnoxious Jnco-cuff on my boxer leg-circumference, just a little breathing room, that's all I'm asking for. They became so unbearable that I actually cut slits up the sides in order to accommodate my apparently chub thighs. The proportion is all out of whack. And now I have tattered portions on my underwear and after a few more washes, I will likely look like a bum, a well bathed and properly groomed wearing-underwear-only bum.

Jello Shots & Butt Naked.

I went out last Friday and got absolutely hammed, torched, pissed as a fiddler's bitch type drunk. Note to self: jello shots are more dangerous than they look.

I remember getting on the bus. I remember bitching at some guy named Gomez for obnoxiously opening his latest amazon package in the seat next to me. I remember becoming best-friends-on-the-bus with Gomez shortly thereafter. I remember declining Gomez' multiple offers to buy me a drink as long as I went to the bar he was going to. I remember thinking I was getting hit on on the bus and feeling decent about that. I remember getting off the bus and walking into the show. And I even remember going into the crowd and dancing in the moosh pit, yes moosh, there was no moshing, only mild mooshing.

I don't remember giving my card to the bar. I don't remember leaving my card at the bar [only had $3 on the tab? you know you're drunk when you spend 3 bucks and still forget your card]. I don't remember punching my friend "right in the solar plexus" after he answered "yes" whenever I asked him, "are you leaving soon?" [I punch like I'm anemic, no worries there] I don't remember getting into the cab. I don't remember calling a rather sensitive girl friend "dipshit" multiple times, nor do I remember emphatically telling her she sucked at kickball. I don't remember making oatmeal when I got home.

But I certainly do remember waking up butt naked, with a splitting headache and next to a 1L only wearing her bottoms. Didn't get beat up, didn't have blacked-out sex, I'll chalk that up as a victory.

Falling Slowly.

Admittedly, I haven't had much time to see new movies this year, especially none of the recently critically aclaimed ones (i.e. Juno, There Will be Blood, or No Country for Old Men). But, one film I did make it a point to see was Once, and one song I had made it a point to download and listen to dozens upon dozens of times was Falling Slowly.

So I really didn't have much invested in who won what award, but when I saw that the Acadamy made a very stellar decision, I was quite pleased.

If you have not heard the song, please, for the love of all that is good, holy, and filled with love, take this opportunity to hear it done well.

San Ho + "Mormons."

So the moot court competition did not go so well. My primary concern was that I didn't get blamed for our lack of progression, I was worried about choking - that didn't happen. The rest of my team was furious with the way things shook out, they left for home even though we all had 2 more nights on our hotel rooms.

Well shit, those hotel rooms were nicer than my bedroom, so I decided to stick it out another night. Fortunately, I had a San Jose homeboy who was willing to take me out on the town for the evening.

I don't recall everything. I know I started with whisky + sobe, switched to pbrs, helped consume a wee bottle of sake, then we went out. I don't remember ordering much, but I know the tecate rounds were firing off like machine guns at Normandy.

I stumbled into a cab, told brosif to take me back to the hotel. I had him hold my wallet while I withdrew funds from the hotel ATM. He told me it wasn't necessary, I think I assured him it was. I don't remember going to my room, but I woke up without puke on my shirt, so score one for the good guys.

And when I finally looked in my wallet a few hours later, there was a random ass number. No name, I'm not even sure it was a bird I was talking to. The area code is Atlanta, go fucking figure.

Now I'm in Utah, god damn this place is white.

Moot Court Shit Show.

So I'm pleased with my team's performance so far. From the sounds of it, the other pair of my took care of Stanford's ass in short order. My partner actually received a strong challenge from New College, I'm not really even sure who took that round. Moot court competitions are a funny little bitch like that. A school like Stanford has so much going for it that they don't need/want to invest in their advocacy program. Consequently, it is "student run" and 1Ls can apparently be on the teams. I wouldn't universally say that 1Ls aren't prepared for stiff moot court competition, but the reality is that if they haven't even completed their spring semester moot court program, chances are slim they've even received the minimum amount of guidance on how to structure an argument, how to deliver it, and how to carry oneself before the judges. New College on the other hand, chip on the shoulder I assume that they have, were very well prepared, knew the law well, and were able to simply and clearly present it to the judges. I'm left assuming that "schools with something to prove" are generally more geared to kicking ass at moot court competitions than T15 schools who really have nothing left to prove.

I think I may have been sharing eyes with one of the birds on the New College team, I dig sharing eyes with birds.

Besides all that mess, this competition has been a shit show as far as organization is concerned. I don't want to name names, so just let's just call him Fuckwad McTard. So Fuckwad, or Mr. McTard, was responsible on the execution of this event. He was able to secure about one-third of the required amount of judges, and a little better percentage of the bailiffs. This translated into all the team coaches having to "volunteer" as preliminary round judges. What the fuck is that? How fair is it to have coaches judging? Here's why that is retarded:

1. Familiarity with the Material

While there is certainly a variance in competence, some of these judges are clearly very invested in this competition. This translates into tougher questions that a regular judge, only familiar with the bench memo, would never think to ask. I'm not 100% opposed to tough questions, as I like the opportunity to shine, but still, not exactly kosher.

2. Incentive to Down-Score

Normally I might say, "well, that shit sucks, but at least it sucks for everyone." Nope, not the case here. Not all the rounds will have a coach participating as a judge. This might not mean much in the W-L columns, but it could mean a shit-ton when it comes to raw score tie-breakers. I don't want to bore you with the details, but I'll leave it at this: Coaches have an incentive to push other teams' score down in order to better the position of the team they coach in the event of a tie-breaker.

3. What the Fuck Happened to Being Anonymous?

So all the teams get told to show up to this meeting, an orientation thing of sorts. They tell us it will be our only chance to learn the numbers of all the teams, information which will not be released at any other point because "the information is confidential." So yea, it's so confidential that it makes sense to tell us at this meeting?

Before telling us the numbers, Fuckwad made sure to note: "are there any judges in the room? No? Okay, here are the teams..." Following the number reading, he asked all the coaches to stay after for a short meeting. That meeting was to tell all the coaches that they must judge, otherwise the competition might have to be cancelled.

WAIT A SECOND. Fuckwad made sure all the judges were out of the room before he read the numbers? But then decided to tell all the coaches that they needed to be judges? No Fuckwad, the room was not empty of judges, there were about as many judges as there are teams and you fail at life. I'm really dumbfounded at how McTard didn't realize that he was reciting team numbers to a group of people he was going subsequently ask to judge. Way to keep up that confidentiality asswipe.

I don't know man, I'm drinking some black velvet on the rocks right now. It tastes okay, I'll stop bitching now.

On With the Show.

My moot court competition is this weekend. While other teams get to travel to exciting places like New York, Boston, and New Orleans, by team gets to travel to Santa Clara - a city that is fairly and universally labeled by non-residents as “shitty.”

Sans the crap location, I am looking forward to finally getting on with the competition. Months of practice, arguing, writing, researching, more arguing, more revising, and here we are. Thank fucking goodness.

Next week I will be enjoying the snow and the mountains, wine, whisky, DVDs, and catching up on my readings. Eat your fucking heart out.

Follow the Rules, or Find the Barrel.

My remedies professor is quite often a riot. Regarding giving advice to a former student concerning the availability of punitive damages following a change in the law, my professor told him this:

Did you do discovery as provided by the statute? No? Well, you’re fucked.

With sophistry almost being a graduation requirement, you just have to love the honesty of that answer.

Ego Boost of the Week.

So I'm standing there with a beautiful hefeweizen in my hand, trying to enjoy myself at this 1L birthday party I managed to get invited to. It's in a rather posh part of the city, in a rather posh bar/club, which isn't necessarily my scene, but I try to blend as best I can, look the part as much as possible if for no other reason than to avoid the strange glances of douchebags who can tell I don't really belong. Additionally, since I don't know a shit-ton of 1Ls, I was looking to make conversation with anyone who'd give me the time.

One of the 1Ls I'm familiar with introduces me to her roommate. During the course of introductions, she's telling each of us a little about the other, giving us a good base of knowledge to work with to keep the conversation going. In short order she tells me where he's from, what he does, and how they met.

Then she turns to the roommate and, in a rather sweet sounding tone mind you, says, "___ is the guy all the 1L girls have crushes on."

YES! Victory is mine. She said some other shit about who I am and what I do at school, but what random non-school dude gives a shit about that? I don't think hombre was impressed with my ability to draw the affections of new students though as he didn't even offer to buy me another beer, prick.

Now if I could find an efficient way of overcoming my pesky habit of never talking to women I'm not already on speaking terms with, I might have myself a way to capitalize on this delightful piece of information.

In the mean time, I'm content with knowing there are birds out there that dig guys with awkward confidence and have a penchant for drinking whisky like it's going out of style, which is ironic, because drinking whisky will never go out of style.

Silent Shitter.

So there I am, popping a squat in the bathroom right next to the Career Planning Office. I like to go to either that bathroom or the one next to the Deans' offices for two reasons. One, there is less of a chance of a random student walking in on me when I'm taking care of business, so I'm almost always alone. And two, if anyone is going to have to suffer through the smell of my curveball-calls, I prefer it to be staff and administrative types. Call it pointless and rather inane vindictiveness, but it suits me just fine.

Anyways, I walk in, I don't hear any rustling, so I move to occupy the handicap stall, I like the arm and leg room. Who knows, maybe I'll want to start shadow-boxing practice while I'm on the can, why bet against a badass possibility like that.

After pissing out what was likely the vegetarian soup I had for lunch, I look down and quickly realize the water is abnormally high for this particular bowl (I am rather familiar with that bowl), only a few inches away from the bottom of my legs. I immediately begin to anticipate an unpleasant amount of splashback. Taking this into consideration, I start experimenting with a slight slide and lean-left effect, essentially trying to minimize the collateral damage of having my own piss hitting the back of my tender thighs when my donation-to-the-bowl breaks the surface tension of the water in dramatic style. It's not the most comfortable method I've ever employed, but it's working. However the strange angle I'm trying to pull off is forcing me to strain more than normal. Consequently, I begin to grunt. I'm not much of a grunter. Normally I hold my breath and push, it that was people do in yoga? Anyways, I'm alone, so why not release some tension audibly? Nothing out of hand, but I'm making noise.

As the opening sequence comes to an end, I begin the second portion of the shitting-endeavor, the portion where your performance will decide how fresh you feel for the rest of the day, or until you take your next shower.

Out of nowhere, I start to hear the sound of wiping coming from another stall! Some fucking savage sat there silently as I struggled, grunted, and confronted what was a dangerous shitting situation. This primitive fuck didn't have the decency to at least scuff his shoes on the floor a little bit when I walked in, I know because I was paying attention. When I'm taking a deuce and someone walks in, I immediately move my feet a little bit, enough to make a recognizable sound so as to prevent the bastard who just walked in from trying to open my door. Did I get this common courtesy when I walked in today? No I did not. Fortunately the rude ass did not pause long enough while walking by my stall to catch a glimpse through the door-hinge-crack and realize it was me, we both would have been mortified I'm sure. Thank goodness the individual washed his hands, otherwise I would have reported to security that an ill-mannered ape-like creature was roaming the bathrooms and needed to be escorted from the building posthaste.

Ash Wednesday.

No matter how many years I've now seen it, I still get a crack out of telling at least a couple people, "Hey, you have some crap on your face."

But really, I am fairly surprised to see ash on some of my classmates' foreheads. I have this notion that one significant part of law school is tuning your mind to be relentlessly logical.

So here we are, spending hours upon hours a day reading cases, analyzing lines of reasoning, attacking opinions, challenging ways of thinking. Yet this same attack-dog mentality somehow fails to materialize among these folks when it comes to thinking about what the hell they're doing/believing in. Ash on your forehead tells me you believe the Easter story, it tells me you believe in Zombie Jesus. If this is the case, my faith in your abilities to competently advise a client have just hit the floor. I hope Zombie Jesus bites you in the fucking neck, using the ash on your face as a homing beacon, the irony would slay me.

Another downside to Ash Wednesday is finding out which pretty birds are Catholic. What a bummer. I could have gone for another year and a half of law school simultaneously staring at your bum and trying to understand Bush v. Gore, neither of which required me knowing you subscribe to the Pointy-Hat-Guy-is-the-Vicar-of-Christ religion. Yup, could have gone my whole pervey life without knowing that information.

On a final note, the sun has been down for roughly 2 and a half hours. You can wipe the soot off your face. Failure to do so means you are either ignorant of your own tribalistic ritual, a filthy hippie-esque character, or a low-level douche. Your pick. Go forth and prosper.

Ego Knock of the Week.

A friend that has insider knowledge on The Pogue, he says to me the other night:

She likes you when she's drunk, she likes hooking up with you when you're both drunk. But when she's sober, not so much.

Ouch. Maybe more of a backhanded compliment than a straight-up knock. Still, it does a bloke no good to hear he's not as likeable when the other person is sober.

And it isn't as if I'm in a position where I'm dying for The Pogue to want to date me, because I'm not exactly dying for the idea of dating her. But you know, it's always nice to at least think the other person wants to date you.

Shut up.

Last week in the lounge at my law school, a group of 1Ls got into an argument concerning abortion. Apparently it got rather intense and aggressive sounding.

My only wish is that a 2L or 3L sitting nearby would have leaned over and impolitely said, "Shut the fuck up! You haven't taken Con Law yet, you have no idea what the fuck you are talking about, and no on cares to hear about your uneducated opinions!"

I think it would have solved a lot of problems - problem number 1 being that law students too often speak authoritatively about subjects they know relatively little about.

What is this, Bush league boozing?

I stopped in at the local grocery store last Saturday night to find multiple miniature herds of co-eds purchasing their alcoholic beverages for the evening.

As I roamed the ailes seeing one fresh face after the next purchasing their portions of liquid courage, a singular comment ran through my mind: Amateurs!

One lone backwards-cap soul had 4 sixers of various micros in his wee basket. I didn't know whether to congratulate him for rising above the stereotypes concerning fratboys and their beer, or to admonish him for abandoning his roots.

Seriously, who waits/needs to buy their hooch that close to closing time? People who do not plan out their drunk, that's who.

"But wait, what if they drank everything they had during the day and needed to get more?!!1"

Fuck off, they should have anticipated such a conumdrum when they started and acted accordingly. Being a lush is no excuse for being a poor planner.

"Wait, what were you doing in the store during closing time then?"

I was buying pasta asshole, and I had a gallon and a half of whisky waiting for me at home, like a veteran, thankyouverymuch. I like pasta with my whisky, sue me.