The half-truths, omissions, and outright lies about floating through law school.

Review Session: A New Off-Off-Broadway Play.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

[Classroom of a respectable New York City law school. Professor enters to find about 10-12 students scattered around the back row.]

Professor: Hello! Sorry I am a little late. [checks watch] So since we are all busy and you have an exam to study for, let's just get started. I don't have anything prepared so this is going to be strictly Q in the back.

Girl Who Speaks No English Whatsoever: Professor, wah wah wah exam wah wah wah section wah wah wah understand wah wah responsible?

Professor: If I understood you correctly you are asking...did everyone hear that in the back? Should I repeat the questions? Yes. The question, I believe was whether there would be an emphasis on the one section of the Act that I never talked about but assigned hundreds of pages of reading for. I can't answer that because frankly I have not written the exam yet. So you won't be the only ones winging it [*winks*].

Creepy Old Woman [does not raise hand just starts talking]: In discussing Natural Resources Defense Council v. Any Semblance of Common Fucking Sense, you had mentioned that the standard of review was leaning towards moderate deference. The hornbooks that I have dutifully purchased and transcribed into this spirally-bound outline [waves outline around, adjusts falling glasses on nose] seem to indicate that the standard is more of "relaxed" deference. Please explain this..."inconsistency" [emits nasal laugh] if you will.

Professor: I believe that was a note case....

Creepy Old Woman: Yes, it followed in the notes after...[starts flipping furiously through sprial-bound outline which is about 100 pages too long to be useful in a 4 hour exam]...[getting flustered]

Professor: I wouldn't worry about trying to you know, pin down any note cases. Unless I mentioned them in class. If I mentioned them in class, but more in a non-passing manner, that is to say if I made any gestures indicating their importance it probably means that I am trying to communicate to you that in fact wrote them when I was clerking for Justice Kennedy. Have I mentioned that I clerked for Justice Kennedy by the way? Because if I haven't let me assure you that after getting my A.B. from Harvard and Juris Doctor from Yale Law, I did not just putz around a big firm like most of you will. No, I clerked for a fantastic Second Circuit judge and then right onto the K-train.

Foreign Guy Who Hasn't Slept in Days: What eez thees "Kennedy" you speak of? I do not see it on zee zylla-boos. I am tres con-fused.

Professor: Nevermind. Any more questions? I just realized I am missing the first half of a Nuggets-Spurs game and my 35 year old wife just got back from Europe and needs a good roll in the sack.

Creepy Old Woman: [still looking for case, about to cry since it begins to dawn on her that her outline is a fucking glorified doorstop]: I know

Girl Who Doesn't Give a Shit: Giggles [openly typing into 4 IM windows, not paying the least bit of attention]. [Adjusts thong sticking out of sweatpants]

Professor: Unless someone else has something, I think that will be all...Remember, the exam is four hours and I will take about 3 minutes to read each one while listenning to a Beatles record my nephew just put on my iPod. So make them snappy! Good luck and please do not stay in touch. I don't answer any email to my current students, there is no reason to think that I will answer yours when you are no longer enrolled. Toodles!

Sometime during exams

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

There are a lot of bad things about finals. Almost all of them. They have, however, been covered ad nauseum elsewhere. Here is one good thing about finals: if you aren't dating but have a kind of on-off-sometimes serial hookup and it's finals and there ain't shit else to do besides study, well you end up getting together even though you haven't seen each other in a month before or talked in weeks. And when the deed is done you have a perfect escape: it's finals! And we don't waste time during finals.

To make a long story short, the AnonymousLawStudent DNA is not yet quite completely off her face and I am already in pants, phone in hand, ready to head out the door.

"Are you going already?"

She missed a spot right below the right eye. I wish my phone had a camera right now. Then again the picture quality is so crappy it probably wouldn't show anyway.

"I have to go to office hours tomorrow...Evidence. know..."

Office hours are 4:15-5:30.

More fun with my readers

Sunday, April 24, 2005

"ALS: you could have just said something like, "Excuse me, miss, you dropped something," and then kept on walking."

Yes but where is the fun in that? If I am going to talk to her, it's to discover further slutty underwear or lack thereof.

"Hey, RLS! How bout a RSS feed?!?"

I don't know who RLS is...Ralph Lauren Student? Retarded Law Student? Rastafarian Law Student? Assuming my new friend JMoore is talking to me, however, I must confess a certain amount of technical ignorance. I don't know how to make an RSS feed. I don't really know how to set up a set of links on this page. I don't know how to link to my e-mail from this page. This is mostly for me to rant and rave about foreigners and comment on interesting thongs I've come across but if you want to educate me on any of the following leave a comment or shoot me some mail at anon_law_student in the Yahoo! dot com address family.

"Damn, that guy has really long posts - too long to bother reading..."

On one hand yes. On the other hand where else are you going to get such a devastating critique of analingus? This is what Tolstoy or Proust would be writing if they were alive today. Well perhaps not Proust since I bet he enjoyed a good rimmin' every now and then.

"And aren't you correct, it is 1am, I am working on a outline and reading about rim jobs to stay awake - thanks to you. I think I read the entire thing with my mouth wide open in amazement - Wow..."

A little fun with editing. This could be changed to:

It is 1 AM...I am working on ...rim jobs...thanks to you...entire thing with my mouth wide open in amazement-Wow...

Wow, indeed. Wow, indeed.

Friday 04/22/05

Saturday, April 23, 2005

One of my favorite blogs has a rather exenstive look at rimjobs. Apparently they are as momentus an event as a George Lucas movie. While I have certainly enjoyed the ramblings of the Philalawyer before, I thought he was shockingly prudish on this particular issue. I mean I never thought I was tha-aa-t adventurous but frankly is this activity THAT big of a deal? Is a little visit to the rear of the store when going down on a girl something shocking?

While everyone is out there trying to squeeze their squib cases into an outline this is what keeps me up late at night.

Thursday 04/22/05

Thursday, April 21, 2005

I was walking around campus today and three girls/young women/whatver were walking ahead of me. Not law students but not undergrads either. One of them is wearing a denim jacket and as she flips it over right shoulder a thong falls out of its right pocket. A pink and white tiny looking thing. I want to say something but I really don't know a good way to approach it. The three girls are all relatively hot and it's hot out and I havent had my coffee I don't have anything good to say. They wander off into the proverbial sunset and I go on my merry way. Walking over the same spot later I see that the article in question is still lying there. This time it has been [picked? kicked? raised? blown?] to the other side and I notice that it most certainly says "SLUT" in rhinestones on it.

Definitely should have said something...It's going to bother me for the next month now.

Monday 04/18/05

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

A lot more people coming to class these days, with finals looming. Like the ones who haven't shown up since week 4. I really don't care one way or the other but more people coming to class means that more of us have to sit in closer proximity to each other. Which means that instead of my usual free space on either side, today I am sandwiched between some crazed-looking foreigner who clearly has not showered and a girl who looks like she might keel over and die. He is wearing a striped shirt with French cuffs with an inexpicable Ronald McDonald t-shirt underneath and picking his nose with the rubber end of a mechanical pencil, flicking the remnants of the nasal treasure away with a swift motion. Yeah real smooth, you fucker. At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that 75% odds say that he doesn't have a job.

I am pretty sure that the girl has not been to class in some time because she is deathly ill. She just looks like shit, all swollen and ashen and just not very fuckable even though she was kinda hot before she got SARS, or e.coli or whatever she has. As if there was any doubt about her status, immediately after the Professor kicks things off she starts coughing. And I am not talking about a little *cough, cough* here, I am talking about chucking up a fucking lung. It sounds like she was working the coal mines in a Dickens novel or something. Assuming he wrote about coal miners. I think he has but who the fuck knows. She is red and tears are coming out of her eyes and I can't hear anything. I am trying not to breathe at all lest I catch via airborne virus whatever the fuck she has and the whole time I am wondering whether her passing out in class will mean that I will be forced to interrupt my online poker game to help her or not. I finally concede that if she falls to the floor I might have to intervene but if she just passed out head down on her desk, that's her fucking problem.

AnonymousLawStudent Answers Your Questions and Concerns.

Thursday, April 14, 2005

" First, Columbia is not really in Harlem, especially as the neighborhood because increasingly gentrified."

Yes, I forgot that Columbia is in "Morningside Heights," a quaint way to rename Harlem, created by real estate agents and Columbia employees seeking to quell the fears of rich suburbanites sending their children to go to school in an area that can only be generously desribed as a complete shithole.

"The fact that you said "Worst Fear to Attend" : wandering into Spanish Harlem is both racist and pathetic."

You are right and I am wrong. In fact it was racist for me to mention the mere possibility of things such as crime in El Barrio. What those of us in the "know" realize is that crime in New York City is a myth, a fabrication of the racist police force perpetuated by the racist media. Spanish Harlem is a bustling area that is completely safe and most certainly does not have runaway violent crime or a thriving drug trade. There are no cocaine dealing syndicates controlling the area or violent street gangs around. Those are just rumors to keep housing prices down.

"And here I was hoping to go to law school to get away from that stuff! You mean to tell me there's no way to escape from it?"

I am sad to inform you that law schools basically run on 1) producing critical scholarship 2) producing less idiotic scholarship that counters the critical scholarship 3) the inevitable critical counter-response, which is inevitably even more radical.

"So what do you think of the Scalia brouhaha?"

My Anonymous friend is referring to this, which I think is a most unfortunate episode. I personally believe that it is the right of every consenting adult to fuck any other consenting adult in any and every body cavity that they desire. That right, however, is not in the Constitution. Yes Scalia's textualist dogma is a little tiresome but he has the better of the argument here: the aforementioned right to fuck another consenting adult in any orifice can be taken away by the legislature.

And it does nothing to advance the argument to lower the level of discourse this way. What Scalia does with his wife is irrelevant: the legislature has decided that it disapproves of a certain kind of fucking and, whether you like it or not, Antonin does not WRITE the law. If you want all fucking legal, go bother the legislators not the men and women who interpret their pronouncements. And yes, I know that there are all kinds of rights being discovered in the Constitution but that is a dangerous road to go down since the right wing nuts will want their own right being read into the Constitution as well. To make a long story short, whoever accosted Scalia is a prick and if you are going to be a prick why not just join the times and throw a pie.

Tuesday 04/12/05

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Now I realize that the crack-smoking panhandler in the old neighborhood didn't get there by the virtue of strong logical reasoning skills, but this is a little too much. Why the fuck does he insist running after me in the excitement of a football player seeing a passed out freshman Tri-Delt asking for change when I am coming home from the gym? I have on shorts with no pockets and a t-shirt and my two keys are danglging from my hand. Where, Mr. Urban Blight, might I be keeping the change you are so eagerly after? Did you think I would open my my anal cavity and dislodge a wad of singles for you? Maybe I am carrying around a pouch of cash, Colombian drug-mule style taped to my stomach. And of course hearing your incoherent ramblings, I would crack it open and hand you a crip Benjamin. Or maybe I have singles stuch to my sweaty back from the gym bench. Because you see those are the only places I could have anything. Or perhaps you wanted to come back to my apartment, we could read some Gilbert's outlines together and discuss the confused state of separation of powers jurisprudence.

Of course I get home to an email from the public interest wench soliciting my yet unearned money to fund legal services for fuckers like him. Good luck with that one.

Monday 04/11/05

I was out with a friend earlier. He works at a hedge fund, which apparently made a killing today flipping a stock that is about to get taken over. Something like 10% in a week's time, he says. Come out, he says, big party we are celebrating some clients and people are going to be out. Models. Cool shit, it's gonna be awesome.

I put on my finest striped shirt and make a beeline for one of Manhattan's, how shall I say this, trendiest bars. There are more 9s and 10s than I have ever seen congregated before in my life. Pretty soon I am trashed on single malt and grabbing a Polish model's ass, asking her how growing up in Prague was. Since she thinks I am making a mil+ a year, she is being very discreet about moving my palm away from her g-string and not informing me that I am several countries off. I am completely trashed but among the top 10% of sobriety of the people I am there with. Apparently they held quite a bit of the target corporation and are wasted beyond belief.

I run to the bathroom and come back for the tail end of a conversation between my friend--the young gun slinger--and his boss, a minor player in the New York hedge fund scene. The only thing I hear is the old guy saying with a smirk "...Oh yeah? Well why don't you blow me?!" I expect everyone to break out in knee-slapping laughter as they do. I am trying to flag down a waitress to get a glass of $40 port when I hear the exchange continuing:
"No, seriously, why don't you blow me."
"Um...get of here."
"No, I am not fucking around. Why don't you blow me. Get down on your knees and suck my ...."
"Dude. This is not cool."
"Hey! Fucker! Don't call me "dude." I make millions a month. You hear me? Millions of dollars. What have you done except for fuck up that Hong Kong deal last month? I buy and sell shit like you before I have breakfast. Have a little fucking respect."
"I'm sorry...I..."
"So if you want to keep that cushy job of yours and the money I waste on your incompetent ass every week, get down on your knees and...BLOW ME!"
He screams the last part. I mean at the top of his lungs, thundering the words louder than the Paul Van Dyke re-mix of some Kylie Minogue song that is blaring. The whole bar is shut down and looking on in horror. I mean the whole place stops and the Eastern European models and the gay waiters and the downtown traders and the hip wealthy children of wealthier parents all stop to stare at our table. My friend looks as white as the walls of a hospital and is nervously looking around. He has a great job that he probably could not get again and if he gets on this guy's bad side...well let's just say there won't be many models in his future. There is a silence that seems to go on forever.
"I am just kidding around, you prick."
"You looked like you were gonna blow me any second there."
The old guy is trying to channel Joe Pesci in "Goodfellas" but it comes out even more abusive somehow. I realize I have to piss again because I have been drinking a Thai microbrew that has appeared in my hand from out of nowhere. My friend comes in and without taking two steps throws up in the sink. I try to calm him down but he looks like he just saw a ghost.

Monday 04/11/05

Monday, April 11, 2005

8:42 AM.
*phone rings*

Fumbling around, confusion. Anonymous LawStudent picks up the phone.

ALS: Hell...Hello?
Phone: Hello, this is your service staff at AnonymousBank. How are you today?
ALS: Um...did I overdraw or something?
Phone: No, sir. We are conducting a study as to how we can serve you...
ALS: I didn't overdraw?
Phone: No, sir.
ALS: And you are calling me at 8:40 in the morning to see what you can do for me?
Phone: Yes, sir. As well as to notify you of our exciting stable of financial management products, such as...
ALS: Ok, first of all don't ever call this early again. And second of all, don't EVER fucking call me unless there is an emergency of some sort. Get someone else to do your market research for you.
Phone: I um...don't think that kind of language is necessary.
ALS: I do. Fuck off and another word out of you and I am going to the National Bank of Brazil which is offering a free swimsuit calendar with every account. When was the last time you fuckers sent me any titties?
Phone: Like I said, I dont um...really...appreciate the...
ALS: Don't ever, ever wake me up again, you outsourced phone monkey.

Hang up phone. Make a burrito and search internet for flights to South America.

Saturday 04/09/05

Saturday, April 09, 2005

Where have you been? You, the incredibly hot undergrad walking around in your little spring/summer outfit, making me unable to concentrate on doing work. Where do you hide when it is cold? Every undegrad that I bump into now in between hurried law school obligations I want to forget when it's sunny out. Do you hibernate or migrate out of this snowy metropolis when you can't wear strappy tank-tops that create mounds of cleavage over sorority butt-shorts? I don't know but I want to find out for the next winter. Yes you might be completely vapid between the ears and you might smoke Camel Lights outside of pretentious clubs because that is the epitome of cool for you at 19. Right now you are bounding around campus with your friend of equal hotness. You are perfect right now. You have long tanned legs and thin arms and a sweet sweet sweet ass and perky young ripe breasts that stand up on their own and that look of pseudo-sophistication you picked up by going to college in the City. And in a little while you won't be nearly as hot, you will take up a "cause," or decide that your 3.0 in English isn't going to cut it for later on in life, or realize that those nice boys from the baseball team are offering you jello shots with a particular activity in mind, or the fact that you are becoming jaded will start to show overtly. And one day you will go back to the suburbs from whence you came and annoy some guy about heating bills and aluminum roof siding and be very serious at PTA meetings, wear pantsuits over your no longer smoking hot rear end and all of that. But right now you are just a sophomore taking in some sun before your seminar on post-feminist critiques of Chaucer and you are basking in the rays and you are hot, ripe, delicious, golden. Robert Frost was right when he wrote that nothing gold can stay.

Sunday 04/03/2005

Sunday, April 03, 2005

Leave me alone. Just let me be. I don't care about social injustice in southeast Asia, or the plight of the Honduran shit farmer, or how George W. Bush stole the election with the help of his brother. That was 5 fucking years ago, even Al Gore has gotten over it. So no, I nor anyone else in their right mind wants to attend a teach-in on the topic. Couldn't you have picked up on the other parts of being a hippie, like the drugs and the great music? I guess not, that's not what law school is for. Law school is for the self-righteous prick who loves to hear himself talk and the self-righteous prickette, who knows better, due to the intellectual rigor of her Haverford degree in Medieval English poetry.

I don't care about the Solomon Amendment and how it is hurting American law schools. I mean what is the big deal: if there was a draft I would think about becoming gay just so I wouldn't have to go be shot at by crazed Iranians or slightly less crazed Syrians. I don't care about the Falun Gong and how the Chinese government is torturing them. If I wanted to join a cult I would do the one all of the celebrities are in. I think its Kabbalah-tology. You joined a cult and the communist totalitarian state reacted in a negative way? Really? Well fuck you. Although those t-shirts are unintentionally funny in a weird way.

I don't care about either side of the affirmative action debate: neither the bleating moronic entitlement to have your intellectual record ignored if you are "underrepresnted" nor the hard-headed hidden racism of the "libertarian" that dare not speak it's name. I hate to break it to you, but you are not that naturally brilliant, Mr. Right-Wing nutcase. If your parents didnt invest in that SAT prep school class you might have ...gasp...gone to a state school. And not even a good state school, I mean THE Ohio State University or something of that ilk.

I don't want to hear about the newest, most "cutting-edge" development in the field of interntional law. I care not about transnational actors, about how "distance is disappearing" and not in the least about "what that means for all of us." And you know that really interesting lecture by that one visiting prof from that school on that really pertient topic? Well, I don't care about that either. Even if there is stale fucking pizza dripping with artery-clogging orange grease. So take me off your damn e-mail lists, don't bother me with any petitions. And don't even think about asking for money. I really could care less that this institution is unwilling to fund your summer attempting to do some kind of half-assed litigating against McDonalds for making the lower classes of this country fat. I like an occasional McSausage and if the rural fucking South has a lower life expectancy because of them, then so be it.

And take all of your righteous indignation about the world and how it should be and your little limousine liberal values and shove them up your middle-class over-educated, socially-useless ass. Unless you are that dark haired girl from Canada with the Long-Island looking blonde-highlight haircut and the too-bright lipstick...I got other plans for you and your ass.

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