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.

----------------------------------------
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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.