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

Friday, May 20, 2005

The most surprising thing about being a wanna-be lawyer is how useless law school is. I mean none of the shit I have "learned," aka crammed into my brain the week before an exam only to be vomited into the screen come exam-time and be forgotten the next day, has come in even remotely handy.

The second most surprising is how hard it is to get used to the higher resoltuion and smaller display of my laptop than my giant flat screen and it's old-man mode that I stare at all day. Come to think of it, I should probably go drink so this doesn't give me a headache.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

I am sitting down at my first lunch as a summer associate of the AnonymousNewYorkFirm to whom I am giving my services this summer. Myself, two other summers, two associates, and a high-wattage partner are at a table of a fine dining establishment. One of the associates interviewed me and was really friendly but very obviously deluding himself and everyone else involved with talk of of the "fantastic work" and "collegial culture." I haven't seen him in months and frankly he looks like shit, bloated and pale and beaten up by the work and the culture. He is also wearing a suit when no one else is wearing a suit, which is an unwise move since it is obvious that he was interviewing elsewhere this morning. Even I know better and I spent the better part of my weekend trying to get two 19 year old freshmen without fakes into bars on the lower east side. When we were unsuccessful one of them took me back to her dorm to do some body shots.

Instead of those good times, however, our lunch is getting tense as the associates are not showing nearly enough firm morale for the high-wattage partner and I am finding the tuna a bit flaky and tasteless even though it will set the firm back $26. I kind of feel bad for the guy, I mean he can threaten those who want to stay to become like him with stuff but for people who just want to get a paycheck for a few years, a line on the resume and leave it must be tough to exert authority. Then I think about all of the 19 year olds I won't be meeting and I feel bad for myself. Plus my cappucino tastes a tad too cold and flat. That's all I remember from today.

Answering E-Mail

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Some interesting stuff to come across anon_law_studnent at the y and the a-hooo account. No identities will be revealed, only the operative language will be quoted:

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Quite a bit but sending anonymous anger to an anonymous law student is not exactly a sign of a well-balanced individual either.

"[I]t appears that you attend a "good" law school...and i was wondering exactly what you did to get to this point. ie what undergrad or type of undergrad, just basically anything beyond the obvious i had a high lsat and high GPA."

Well I do indeed attend a law school that U.S. News & World Report has annoited as a top 5 institution in these United States. And since they are a crappy weekly news magazine that absolutely no one reads except for their ranking of everything in sight, I guess that's good enough. I wonder why more magazines don't just start ranking shit, those always seem to sell well. What is also curious is why institutions with a lot more legitimacy to write about higher education [Newsweek, Time, NY Times, any-fucking-one] have given this abortion of a magazine a free pass monopoly on determining who is "in" or "out" in higher education. Don't we believe in competition in this fucking country? But I am digressing.

To answer your query more fully, this is what it takes to go to a top 5 law school [following advise is for non-"underpresented" applicants only]:
1) Get good GPA.
2) Get VERY good LSAT.

That's it! I myself attended an instutution that in the undegrad U.S. News & World Report has placed very well in the past 10 years. Whether that made a difference at all, I couldn't tell you but from the experience of people around me I can tell you that having a shitty LSAT would not save you even if you had a 4.0 in astrophysics from M.I.T. The problem is that law schools have to report their numbers in order to be ranked by U.S. News & World Report and therefore will do anything to make those numbers appear higher. While this might sound lamentable, it actually worked out great for me. I have no work experience, graduate degrees, academic research, or frankly interests of any kind. But I did have a high GPA from a top school and one kick-ass LSAT and here I am, ready to lawyer and weasel my way through life. The point of all of this is that law school admissions are simply about having a high enough index [GPA+multiplier(LSAT)] and that's it. And if anyone tells you otherwise they are either lying or are an idiot.

"Please remember to never restrict anyone's
opportunities for ascertaining uninterrupted
existence for their quintessence."

Ok this one is from the comments and not e-mail but it deserves its own mention. Are you a Scientologist or something? Because I am not joining unless Jenna Elfman blows me.

Monday, May 09, 2005

All done. That means it is time for a bender. More to follow...

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

I am at the gym after the exam. Had to run out before some fat girl crying into her Juicy velour tracksuit brought me down after the adrenaline rush of non-stop 4 hours of typing. I am drinking some water, waiting for a stationary bike and some girl keeps turning around to look at me. She looks vaguely familiar but who the hell knows, I see the same people here every week and they are all just passing strangers. She is on the short side and not particularly attractive, especially not in her way too tight gym outfit. Finally she walks over to where I am standing.

"Hi...I'm AnonymousGymGirl...have we met?"

I don't think so. I mean probably but. Wait...oh, no I couldn't have.

"Um...I am not sure."

In that split second I try to reimagine her in a loose slinky top showing sufficient cleavage and $300 jeans and it all comes back. Oh, what was I thinking?

"Yeah...we met at [insert name of pretty shitty bar I never go to anymore]."

Of course we met. In fact we did more than meet. You blew me. Twice. We [or I] got really wasted and ended up going home to your apartment near Murray Hill. As I recall you were into some weird shit and were kind of loud in an odd and I may or may not have stolen a bottle of expensive tequila on my way out.


At this point I don't know what to say. All I know was about 8 hours after our unfortunate get-together I woke up completely drunk to find that I had re-arranged my furniture at some point in the night. I deliberately ran off without any way of being contacted and now this has come back to haunt me. In Manhattan of all fucking places. Shouldn't you be able to at least not have to see these ghosts of hookups gone wrong in a place with 9 million people?

I made up some lame excuse about just remembering that I really need to run to a study group and meander off.

Exam morning

The alarm rings but it doesn't matter because I have been awake for almost an hour already, staring at the crack in the ceiling that might or might not be there. Pleading standards, policy points, presumptions and assertions that's all I can think about. Well not quite, there is also the paralyzing fear of fucking this up somehow. I know I shouldn't care and that I have already run the gauntlet and did what I had to do when it mattered and now, well I don't know why I am wrapped up in stress; habit perhaps?

I run to the bathroom as I realize that my fear of shitting the bed figuratively might become realized literally. Then I am in the shower trying to wake up and feel clean and sleek and ready. I pace around like a caged animal trying to compose myself. I look at my outline. It might not be much to look at but it has everything I need to know and more importantly organized in a way where everything is accessible within seconds. Law, cases, rules, policy, connections, dissents, history, developments, all cross-referenced, indexed, in 10 point font.

I walk into the room and sit down. The 3Ls are busy assuring each other that they like totally didn't study at all. The foreign kids are nervously thumping through voluminous notes that won't help them much in a few minutes. The weird old woman is organizing her outline collection next to her and a strange calm falls over me. I think of all of the missed nights, the ignored friends, the lost connections, the forgotten crises, the missed ups and downs of being young and in New York and I am pissed off. I am mad about the late nights, the stress, the piles of commercial guides, the sheer inhuman fucking effort it took to make the outline I am holding in my hand from bits and pieces of other lesser works. And as the proctor gets through the instructions I have now heard almost a dozen times I am so full of energy and stress and pain and rage that there is no doubt. I am ready to do what I came here to do and climb the moutain faster than anyone else in here. There is no fucking doubt now.

It's that time of year...

Monday, May 02, 2005

Actual VERBATIM e-mail to cross my in box this morning. Only the names have been taken out for obvious purposes.

"Hey ALS,

Are you gonna be in newyork this summer? If so we should defanitely hang out! I am working at [real shitty firm] and yeah I haven't seen ya in a wahile.

So we got the exam on Wed....would you mind sending me your outline for [pick a class, it matters not which]? I am a little behind and you know with me breaking up with Anonymous now Ex-Boyfriend and all...I kinda stopped going... Since I was not in class, the notes that I got are a little unclear.

I can repay you with *favors*

-Anonymous Mooching Slut"

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