On this noche vieja...

I'm not choking on 12 grapes. Man, I miss Spain. But as I reminisce about the awesomeness of my past, I am reminded of just how anxious I am for it to be 2009 already. On deck for the coming year: Tickets to Wicked. Law school graduation. Passing the bar exam. Getting licensed to practice. Living accommodations upgrade. Europe trip. Not going back to school in September. Moving? Maybe. New car? I sure hope so. All undeniably good things. And then there was 2008. Did anything good really happen in 2008? I must say, my good friend Dave Barry sums it up waaaaaay better than I ever could. Click the link. Be enlightened. http://www.miamiherald.com/living/columnists/dave-barry/story/826965.html

In case you didn't make it onto the Christmas card list this year...

My grandma read this and said I missed my true calling. I think if law doesn't work out, I will definitely look into a career as a sarcastic pointer out of the obvious.


Season’s Greetings!


The lyricist who penned the words, "It's the most wonderful time of the year" may have been referring to the Christmas season, but as an overworked grad student, I don't think it is a coincidence that this most wonderful of times happens to include the end of another school semester. As finals fade into the not so distant past, I find myself with time to reflect on everything that has happened over the last year. And while the proliferation of blogs and Facebook have made keeping in touch more convenient than ever, I think the tradition of sending out family newsletters at Christmas is one worth keeping.

It has been an exciting year, with random adventure hiding amidst the mundane. Scott and I are still living in Salem, Oregon, where my legal brainwashing continues. On the side, I continue to be a crusader for justice at the Oregon Department of Justice, in the Child Advocacy Section. I got an upgrade on my work title after becoming court certified in April and am now the "lead law clerk" in our section, which means I have had the privilege of training new clerks taking their first steps into the legal field. It has been a lot of fun. I have also been able to make court appearances, and do “real lawyer stuff”, which has been both challenging and exciting. Getting out of the classroom and into the courtroom has given me hope that working in the law will be less soul-sapping than studying it. As I enter my last semester of law school, I find that mandatory minimum attendance requirements are really getting in the way of my practicing law. I think the good news is that by this time next year I will be gainfully employed...or at least standing on the steps of some courthouse in a business suit, holding a sign that says "Will litigate for food." Either one sounds preferable to the ivory tower. If anyone has any connections to the legal community, feel free to drop my name.

Scott has also been keeping busy this year, continuing to work for what appears to be the last bank standing, Bank of America. Scott started out the year as a Personal Banker, but has been promoted to the Teller Operation Specialist at his banking center. If you're wondering exactly what that entails, I have come to the conclusion that it means he is in charge of "running things." This includes, but is not limited to taking phone calls at 6:00 in the morning from slackers calling in sick, playing human calculator for tellers who cannot seem to count their money at the end of the day, and riding to the rescue of managers who have locked their office keys in the car. While I am not always crazy about sharing him with his very demanding work family, Scott is unfailingly professional and extremely adept at what he does.

In non-work/school related news, Scott and I were called to a joint teaching position in our ward Primary this year, which has raised serious doubts in our minds about the prudence of a three hour church meeting. Every week we have the profound privilege of doing battle with 8 five-year-olds who excel at jumping from chairs and reinventing "Duck, Duck, Goose," but cannot seem to master sitting still at such a tender age. For all you parents who wonder why your kids come home from church more riled up than when you left the house, I confess, it is because we hapless teachers feed them lots of gummy bears in a futile attempt to keep them quiet long enough to teach a 5 minute lesson. Before you pass judgment on our methods, I ask you bear in mind that we are a childless couple, a fact which, based on this experience, is unlikely to change in the foreseeable future.

And I suppose that’s the elevator version of our year in review. 2008 has been a fantastic year and our hopes are high for 2009. We wish you all a very merry Christmas and our thoughts are with you during this holiday season.

Inclement weather

I've spent a significant portion of my life in regions that see significant amounts of winter snowfall. Oregon is supposedly an exception to that. I say supposedly, because everyone around here adamantly insists that snow in Oregon is indeed anomalous. This means after a dusting of the white stuff, the roads will go uncleared for days because there are no snowplows to be found, black ice inevitably forms everywhere, offices close, commerce grinds to a standstill, and people hunker down in their houses fervently awaiting the return of what is not anomalous around here: rain. I must say, though I have only lived in Oregon for a little more than two years, there have been crippling snowstorms each winter, which leaves me wondering why people haven't yet learned to deal with it. At any rate, since it is a Saturday and I really don't have anywhere to be, I decided to join the ranks of the stay-at-homers and hum "Let it snow." I'm now a week into my Christmas vacation, and life is extremely good. Scott and I took a trip to the coast last weekend for our second anniversary, and I must say it was an amazingly efficient way to bring my brain back to normal functioning after exams. We stayed at a great oceanfront hotel, visited a great old lighthouse, did a little whale watching, sampled the local fare, and strolled snow covered beaches without a care in the world. It was fantastic. When it was time to make the trek home, the weather was clear, but the roads were significantly less so. It was pretty much a sheet of ice the entire way, and when you combine that with people who aren't accustomed to driving in the snow, bad things happen. As we were driving along, the car in front of us slammed his breaks as a random group of people inexplicably ran across the highway. Scott tried to brake, but we didn’t stop. As I said we were going to crash, Scott veered right, and we went off the side of the road. It was quite the excitement. Actually, just the front tires went off the road, and the rest of the car was perched precariously on the top of an embankment. The same group that caused the near accident came over to help us push our car back on the road, and when we were able to get moving again, we saw that the reason all those people were just chilling on the road was because their two cars had gone completely off the highway into a ditch, and they were either waiting for help, or trying to get as many other people to feel their pain. Like I said, you would think that people would figure out how to drive in the snow, seeing as how it snows at least once every year, but sadly it's not a skill everyone can master. That's definitely why I'm going to spend this snow day inside.

Just breathe

The moment has arrived; the moment overworked students everywhere live for. My last exam was nothing short of aneurysm-inducing, and I'm still contemplating the legal and grade ramifications of running my car through the front door of my professor's law office. Honestly, a 13 page exam for a 2 credit class? Is that his sick idea of a joke? Sadist. People like that deserve to have their faces lit on fire and beaten out with a rake. But since I have neither a car, nor the desire to go to jail, I guess I'll just have to be content with the knowledge that I beat that exam and not the other way around. And here I sit, with absolutely nothing standing between me and an utterly deserved month-long reprieve. There is much to look forward to: sushi dinner tonight, going back to work and actually getting a paycheck again, an extended weekend at the coast, anniversary #2, a relaxing travel-free Christmas, and watching the bloodshot streaks fade from my eyes as survival mode dissipates. I am spent. And I'm not sure I entirely comprehend the enormity of the moment yet. There is now only one semester standing between me, and academic liberation. Can I make it? The answer this morning was no, but now it seems possible once again.

And now, a rant

Law school saps my will to live. That is the title of my new favorite ipod playlist. It's loaded with screaming standards by Linkin Park, a little rueful humor by the Offspring, and a dash of morose melancholy courtesy of the Goo Goo Dolls, because really, what is the point of all this screaming? No one's listening anyway. I will be taking exam 2 of 4 in a little less than an hour. I've been gorging myself on Trusts and Estates law since Monday evening, and at this point, my eyes are simply refusing to focus on my notes for another second. Refusing!!! It's not for lack of trying either, but every time I try to look at the statutes governing intestate succession, my eyes dart away from my computer screen in an action vaguely resembling an involuntary twitch. I hate my life, I hate my life, I hate my life... this thought runs through my head on a constant loop. I would just like to take this opportunity to express my annoyance at the widespread belief that the first year of law school is the worst, and that it only gets easier from there. NO! It does not get easier. You just get more and more bored with it, so you pay less attention to how awful it is. But then finals come, and the moment of reckoning rains down all its fury on you as you realize you spent the entire semester so focused on just surviving each day that you somehow neglected to learn a single solitary thing. Or maybe you learned a lot, but over the course of the semester your brain has simply reached critical mass and can no longer readily recall the volumes of knowledge locked away in the cavernous reaches of your mind. And yet, in the most antithetical approach to learning ever, the way they gauge your intelligence around here is to subject you to two weeks of final exams; 4 exams, three hours a piece, to test you on what you learned or should have learned over the course of 4 months. And that's it. Nothing else counts. Not your attendance, not the hours spent reading cases, not the public humiliation in class. Nothing. Just this one exam. Trusts and Estates alone is a four credit class, meaning I spent 4 hours a week in class, and at least three times that amount out of class doing reading assignments for this class alone (I had 5 classes, by the way), and now you want me to summon all that information to the fore and do what with it? Kneel over my laptop and violently expel the contents of my brain in the eagerly awaiting exam software? Oh yes, that's exactly what I'm supposed to do. The only problem with this mental bulimia is that I can't exactly control what comes up in this torrential sickness. It might be a little something on revocable living trusts, blended in with Article 9, or miscellaneous itemized deductions, or right of redemption. How does one compartmentalize word vomit??? I'm so sick of people telling me that I'm almost done. As if I could be oblivious of that fact. But almost only counts when throwing hand grenades. In law school, almost equals 4 more miserable months. I'm so tired of being reminded that this was my dream and for better or worse, I brought this on myself. It's a fine line between dreams and nightmares, you know. I'm weary of this place. It's a sad, sad day when you wake up reciting the rules for introducing extrinsic evidence in a will contest. That day was today. My brain has suffered what will likely prove irreparable damage along with the rest of my rapidly deteriorating self. My muscles are surely atrophying away as I spend 8 hours a day in bed with my laptop, frantically trying to relearn everything I've been subjected to this semester. And I'm pretty sure I'm developing a bald spot in my favorite hair twisting spot. I hate this! I hate this. And now that I have that out of my system, I'm off to tackle my exam. And after that, with trembling hands I will shove a pair of headphones into my ears, crank up my new favorite playlist as loud as I can tolerate, and let the music clean the slate so I can start preparing for my next exam.

Law school quote of the day...

"Lady justice may be blind but she will slap a hoe." --Kevin Barrett

I was less than successful in smothering my laughter when I read this little gem in a Facebook status update conversation. I'm sure my professor knew I wasn't laughing about strict foreclosure. Yet another reason why it's probably a bad idea to be online during class.

The resounding silence

When I was a senior in college, I had the opportunity to live by myself for several months. I must admit, it was a glorious experience. I had just come off the mission, where I was obligated to pass every waking moment with a companion superglued to my line of sight. I followed that up with a string of unfortunate, mentally unstable roommates who routinely attempted to suck me into the vortex of their insanity. After all that, living alone was a liberating experience. There was much to love about flying solo. I loved the way the floors only needed to be vacuumed once a week as opposed to every day. I loved the fact that dirty dishes were never left in the sink. I loved the quiet study time that replaced the constant noise of a blaring stereo or television in the adjoining bedroom. And I especially loved how my food managed to last a lot longer when it was no longer being stealthily stolen by cash-strapped housemates. There were also things that I didn't particularly love. I hated coming home at the end of a long day to a cold, dark, empty house. While there is much to be said about silence, there is also something inherently wonderful about coming home to people who care to see you. In college I experienced extremes when it came to roommates; there were ones that I absolutely loved, and others that made me seriously consider taking up residence in my car. Coming home to the ones I absolutely loved was always something I looked forward to. Being married has allowed me to combine the things I loved most about living alone with all the things I appreciated most about living with good roommates. It has been fantastic. But tonight, when I came home from Portland, the house was cold, dark, and empty. Part of me knows I should be savoring this unique opportunity because it means I'll be able to devote my utterly undivided attention to preparing for my final exams. It means I can spend the entire week in my pajamas if I feel so inclined. It means I can eat macaroni and cheese for every meal and no one is around to care. It means I can steal the covers and mimic a starfish in the ocean all I want, and no one will object. These are all the indisputable benefits of solo living. But the silence weighs on me heavily. Sometimes being alone isn't really all that great.

I object to your objection

It is finals season once again. My brain is operating in overdrive, my motivation level is hovering around nonexistent, and my temper is extraordinarily short. And I'm not the only one. It's a vicious time of the semester. Not exactly the best time to ask a fellow student for a favor. I'm taking a deposition skills training class this semester, and as part of the curriculum we each have to conduct two depositions, one of a lay witness and one of an expert witness. I asked a former co-worker to be my "lay witness" for the first deposition which took place a month ago. Though the fact pattern was fairly straight forward, it was a harrowing two hours for my witness. I felt awful for suckering her into agreeing to portray a sleazy character, be quizzed on things she didn't really know, and be subjected to brutal cross by a shark in training. I simply didn't have the heart to ask my (former?)friend to agree to another pummeling as an "expert witness". To be quite honest, I didn't have the heart to ask any of my classmates to be my expert witness because it's just too close to finals. A week before exams? My heavens no. I didn't even feel like I had time to pull this one off. People have tons going on, the expert witness fact pattern was complex and convoluted, and I knew anyone I might ask would be even less enthusiastic about learning it than I was. The economic analysis of my fake expert witness was enough to raise the spectre of Kearle and cause me to whimper in fear. But I still had to conduct the deposition. Which meant I had to ask someone to voluntarily place his or herself on the altar of academic indignity to be sacrificed in an intellectual slaughter. Yeah right like anyone volunteers for that. So naturally I asked the only person I knew that would accept the challenge and still care to talk to me afterwards. Some married folks might say that they know their spouses love them because they verbalize it, or because they're faithful, or because they put the toilet seat down. I would posit that the true measure of one's devotion is a willingness to be subjected to a mock deposition as an expert witness. Scott is truly a rock star. I'm sure the entire time he was thinking, "What in the world? Friends don't let friends be mock expert witnesses. How could she do this to me? I don't know the law. I can't answer these questions. What am I even doing here?" And yet he managed to hold his own against a very frazzled, self-proclaimed overly aggressive criminal defense lawyer in embryo, and he did so with style and aplomb. He never complains when I obligate him to accompany me to law school social functions. He never whines about my excessive studying. He never asks me to take a break from my incessant anti-law school tirades, but never lets me quit. And he never lets me down when I need him most. That is love.

Making lists and having plans

All my life I have been very much a list-maker. In the margins of pretty much every spare scrap of paper on which I have ever taken notes is scrawled a to do list.
"Go running
send thank you card
finish reading assignment
return phone messages..."

On the wall of my college apartment hung a masterful 6 page articulation of qualities my roommates and I thought to be essential in "The Perfect Male."
"Intelligent
Funny
Ambitious
Can change a tire faster than you without breaking any
screws, but won't laugh at you for trying..."

I once had a teacher ask me to make a list of five things I wanted to accomplish in my life.
"Graduate college
Serve a mission
Go to law school
Get married
Have kids"

And this is probably why I have always had a five year plan. I'm a Type-A control freak in love with list-making. This week I found out that I scored an interview for a job with the DOJ after graduation, and hoping to be as well prepared for this interview as possible, I sought out a little advice from one of our current attorneys on what types of questions to expect. She told me the one question that will almost certainly be asked of me is where I see myself in ten years. That gave me pause. Because I honestly have no idea. I have found that my ability to plan ahead is severely hampered by the fact that I will no longer have school on my to do list. I was able to say as a high school senior where I wanted to be in 10 years because 7 of those years would be spent in school. Now that I'm almost past all that, the options are much more uncertain. Where do I want to be in ten years? I want to have my student loans paid off. I want to have a career that is meaningful and exciting, preferably something that lets me help other people while still allowing me to enjoy some semblance of free time. I want to live abroad. I want to read for fun. And I might even want to finally scratch the straggler #5 off the list. Maybe. Are these acceptable answers for a job interview? Probably not. I guess it's time to give serious thought to an updated long term plan.

Shackled to the ivory tower

There is a guy sitting two tables over from me in the library. I know him because he sat at my table during first year orientation and encouraged me to join the Runner's Club at Willamette. He seemed like a nice enough guy. I was surprised to see him in my Civil Procedure class the following week when school started. He was a 2L, and while 2Ls are not entirely uncommon in 1L classes here because of the merciless retake policy for students who get below a C+ in their required first year courses, it was still a little jarring. That guy went on to take that very same Civil Procedure class again as a 3L. There are few things in this world as mind numbing and painful as civil procedure, but it is one of the few classes here that is not graded on the curve, which means no one HAS to fail it. People still manage to do so. And evidently people manage to miss the minimum grade requirements for graduation. He should have been long gone with the rest of his class following graduation last May, but I still see him. Everyday. On this very campus. Willamette has a pretty unforgiving "kick out policy" which basically means if you manage to fall into the very bottom of your class, they thank you for your tuition donation to that point, and kindly show you the door. This weeding out happens after each grading period, but in the case of graduating 3L students, if you slip into the netherworld between pass and fail (the 2.3 cumulative), you are required to come back for an extra semester to get your act together. For those poor souls trapped in 3.5L purgatory, all I can say is, perhaps law really isn't for you. But thanks for hanging in there, because you serve as a constant reminder to me that I can't check out entirely just yet.

Kids say the darndest...wait, what?

Yesterday was madness. Our ward had its primary program, and can I just say whoever thought it would be prudent to pack the stand with 100 fidgeting, giggling, whining, "I have to go to the bathroom"-ing children is beyond delusional. Scott and I both had to sit up with the kids and regulate. I spent the entire time trying to keep my coughing and shaking under control, while watching every agonizing minute pass on the clock in front of me. When it was over, my first instinct was to head for the door and keep on walking. I'm pretty sure that if you're already sick, it's not the best idea to spend three hours in the company of small children, who not only catch everything, but manage to mutate what they catch, so when they boomerang it back to you, the sickness is nastier and even more resistant to drugs and bed rest. But it was also Scott's first day as an official primary worker, and I knew I couldn't leave him alone with our class. That would just be too mean. So I sucked it up and went to primary. Our lesson was on sabbath day observance, and Scott was quizzing our brilliant 5-year-olds on what things we should and should not do on Sunday. There was a girl next to me, screaming in the corner, still traumatized by the fact that her mother had made her come to class (which literally required prying her off mom's leg and quickly blocking egress from the door). Despite my best efforts to calm her, she was still shrieking and making it hard to hear what was being said. I gathered that the standard primary answers were bouncing around the room. "Don't hit your sister." "Do what mom and dad ask." "Read scriptures." "Go to church." And then another little voice piped up from the front of the room, loud enough to be heard over the separation-anxiety poster child at my side. "Don't look at naked pictures!" Scott and I looked at each other as we tried our hardest not to die laughing, which effort, I might add, was unsuccessful. That caught even crying girl off guard, causing her to momentarily forget what she was protesting. I'm not sure what made the kid think that particular response was the one we were looking for, but since we couldn't argue with the veracity of his answer, he got a gummy bear for a correct response.

Dear Socrates, I am no longer impressed.

September 1, 2006 saw me taking my first wobbly steps into the law school abyss, living in fear of the sound of my name, and resigning myself to a very long three years of public humiliation on a regular basis. That was then...
The case is Leonard v. Pepsico, the class of course is contracts, and the mission that fate has so cruelly dropped in my lap is to defend a plaintiff so stupid, so completely unreasonable that no rational human being could possibly hope to win the case. "Ms. Wareham... Wareham is that it? It's pronounced 'ware-ham'?" Never before have I so hated the sound of my own name. I nod. "Tell us your thoughts on this case." I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and laid my head on the chopping block. I wouldn't be needing it anyway; it was defective!!! It seemed to have sprung a leak, because for the life of me, I could not call to memory what I had read, nor was I capable of making sense of my case notes. "Well...I would say that I have to agree with what has been said regarding the reasonable person standard. I don't see in this case how the plaintiff could have honestly thought the commercial was making an offer when it was so obviously meant to be a joke." The professor stares me down for a moment, the class is shrouded in silence. "You know what side you're defending, right?" Of course I do. How could I not? "Okay, did you want my personal opinion, or my opinion as member of the Leonard camp?" The response is swift and unforgiving. "Ms. Wareham, do you think a judge is going to care what your personal beliefs are when you're at trial? Of course they won't!" A low rumble of poorly suppressed laughter ripples through the room. "Now again, I ask what your take is on this case." Right. "Well the plaintiff saw the commercial as an offer, to which he responded with an acceptance in the form of his completed order request and the money for the jet." Silence. The professor turns to the other side of the room, demanding a rebuttal to my assertion. Am I off the hook? Response is offered, and again he turns to me. "And what do you say to that?" "The commercial makes absolutely no distinction between the items you can purchase with product points and those you cannot. If the intent was merely a joke, which is evidenced by the fact that the revised commercial indicated as much, the company should have explicitly stated as much." Did something so utterly stupid and contrary to what I actually think just escape my lips? I'm a lawyer already. The professor continues. "Then the dispute becomes one of fact. Would a reasonable person think this is an offer or not? If we in fact have a dispute, then summary judgment, which is granted in this case, is not appropriate. It should have gone to a jury. But why don't we want this case to go to a jury? Do you know what kinds of people sit on juries?" I hear my thoughts out loud. "People that aren't smart enough to get out of jury duty?" He smiles ever so slightly, raises an eyebrow, and accuses me of reading his notes. "Unemployed people that aren't smart enough to get out of jury duty." This time the laughter is not at my expense. And he moves on to his next victim.


And this is now. I sit in Federal Income Tax, wearing my boredom like a pair of mirrored sunglasses. The professor doesn't seem to see his reflection. He is awkwardly firing off names from his attendance sheet, trying to get a Socratic dialogue going. I am unfazed. I know that my classmates are equally disengaged because I can see their screens: solitaire, Facebook, Ebay, and email, but no notes. No one is taking notes. I'm pretty sure I haven't heard a word that has been said for at least the last three weeks, with the possible exception of when the professor shot down an anomalous attention-payer by telling the student his question was incoherent. It really is true what they say. The first year, law school scares you to death. Probably because all of us were used to being "the smart ones." And that first year is only successful if you finish with no self-esteem. The second year law school works you to death. Class, job, extracurriculars, seriously. It's a good thing we don't have any self-esteem left, because a mentally stable person would choose life. And the third year law school bores you to death. No self-esteem, no quality of life, and the new found distraction of job searching during class. Like the last three students who have been called on in this class, I think I'm going to need a pass. Why? Because I'm dead, three times over, and I'm clearly not paying attention.

On the highway of life...

...One must have a car. I had a car once. And this blog is dedicated to my Rhonda. It was nearly ten years ago when I first laid eyes on you, my future first car. I was 16 and too cool for a sensible sedan. I must admit, I wasn't happy about my parents' utter refusal to give into my wheedling for a sporty red convertible, and while it wasn't exactly love at first sight, I've grown to love you more than a person should possibly love an inanimate object. I remember the test drive, signaling what would be the start of my long bout with lead footitis, but you being the wonderfully unassuming car you are, were practically invisible on the road. The more I got to know you, the more appealing you became. Bringing you to school for the first time, I felt like the coolest kid on the block. With your moon roof, CD player, seating for four of my best friends, and those awesome automatic seat belts that have by now been phased out because of their hazardous nature, you were much more than a way from A to B. You were a fashion statement. Way too fashionable to have my younger brothers ever sit in the front seat. We made our way through the treacherous years of high school and even though you got a few dings and dents, you were still the hotness. Remember that jerk on the motorcycle that failed to grasp the fundamental concept of physics that two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time? I still can't believe he got out of having to pay for your tragically banged up front passenger door. And then there were those punks that smashed one of your windows to grab my stereo, CDs, and spare change. I can't believe the cops wouldn't charge them with anything, even though they were found with the stolen property. I think it was then that I decided officially to be a crusader for justice. Then there was the time that a tornado blew through the area and the basketball hoop fell on your roof. I guess we were pretty lucky that it missed the windshield and the moon roof. I'm still not sure how it managed to knock off my rear view mirror, though. Weird. From there, we made the journey to college; the first of many trips across the country. In the sleepless haze of No-Doz and M&M's, I'm amazed we didn't end up in a ditch, although we did come close. Way to go, dad. College together was awesome, even though gas prices started to creep up to the unimaginable range of $1.50. $1.50!!! It was then that I decided I couldn't afford to drive around as much. You were still as trusty as ever, starting on cold mornings, running on hot afternoons, and always getting me to where I needed to be. You even substituted as my apartment when I found myself locked out. Your door handles started to crack, but we worked around that. There were a few brushes with the law during college, but luckily we managed to talk ourselves out of that massive fine and into traffic school. What a farce that was. But at least I learned that you were not a time machine, and I shouldn't use you to make up for my perpetual tardiness. Point taken. When I left you to go to Spain, my spastic sister crashed you into a pole and your radio antenna mysteriously disappeared, and my brother got a fantastically overpriced $400 ticket driving you from Oklahoma to Utah (with expired tags, ouch), but when I came home after 19 months and put Linkin Park into the CD player, it was like no time had been lost between us. By the time we made it to law school, you were celebrating 200,000 miles. Must have been all those trips from Utah to Oklahoma and Provo to Cannonville. So many miles. So many memories. In Oregon, I really couldn't afford to drive, so you started spending more and more time alone in the parking lot. I'm really sorry about that. I'm even sorrier that when your distributor went out and you stopped running, we didn't get it fixed right away. And now, it's time for us to part ways. I feel like I'm losing a best friend. Thanks for the good times; you're going to be a tough act to follow. I feel sorry for my as yet unpurchased new car already.

Lipstick. Lipstick! LIPSTICK!!!

Saturday School

There are a great many things I like to do with my weekends. Sleeping in is high on that list, usually followed by general waking laziness. What I do not like doing on a weekend is anything even remotely related to school. This includes reading, writing papers, or even driving past the law school. Today I was willing to make an exception to a rule I usually only discard during finals. The college of law I attend is currently celebrating its 125th anniversary. As part of the festivities, we have had the opportunity to have Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg on our campus, dedicating new buildings, getting honorary degrees, and basically lending legal street cred to our humble institution. This morning the law school sponsored a special Constitutional Law "class" featuring Justice Ginsburg. Can I just say it was amazing? Justice Ginsburg is a personal hero, not only for her thorough and searching legal analysis and contributions to American jurisprudence, but also because of her incredible and tireless dedication to advancing the common good. The woman is brilliant. And she has used that brilliance to help others throughout her entire life. She personifies what my idealistic former self aspired to when I first started law school. Listening to her speak, I felt the faint stirring of a vaguely familiar excitement; one that I used to feel when I thought about using a legal education as a means to make the world a better place. Today as she patiently fielded questions from students (some of them thought-provoking, others considerably less so) on topics ranging from constitutional interpretation, to federalism, to judicial activism, I found myself getting excited again about being a part of the legal profession. It's been a while since that has happened. When I grow up, I want to be just like Justice Ginsburg.

Keep your expectations low and you'll never be disappointed

People who know me know better than to ask me my opinion on politics. They usually have neither the time nor the attention span to sit through the answer. But right now, like any good blogger, I'm feeling the inclination to put my unsolicited opinion out there. As the interminable primary season culminated in back to back party conventions, it seems like one of the loudest and most ridiculous complaints rising above the din has taken the form of an attack on elitism. I simply cannot understand this. When did the title of an elitist become an epithet of derision? During the Olympics, the world was riveted as elite athletes shattered world records, and achieved feats of apparent super-human greatness. Merely witnessing these events inspired people to try a little harder and do a little better in their own personal pursuits. When you think about elite universities, what comes to mind? The best of the best. Great minds coming together to put forth innovative ideas, elevate those around them, and attack common ills that beset society. Do we not all strive to achieve some variation on elite? When we do not, the sad spectacle is nothing more than wasted potential. And yet when a politician emerges with brains, class, and an admonition to the people to expect a little more from themselves, the response is backlash. Such a person can't possibly relate to the concerns of the average voter. Such a person is aloof and untouchable. Such a person isn't average like me. Wake up people. Do we really want to elect public servants who are "average"? I get the fact that people want their leaders to understand the concerns that plague the populace. However, if we want a person to face those problems head on, we need someone with the audacity to present new ideas to counter the old ideas that have failed us. Solutions don't come from people who are average; people who never dare to separate themselves from the pack. Solutions come from people who realize that average isn't an aspiration; it's a concession. I don't care what your politics are. Red, blue, conservative, liberal; it doesn't matter. Governments evade accountability to the electorate when people are too busy being average to pay attention. We may not be quite a "nation of whiners," but I do think we've become a nation of underachievers. And that's not okay. The problems our nation faces are real. We cannot expect to compete in a global economy if average is our high watermark. We need to be developing alternative energy sources. We need to address climate change. We need to take responsibility for the sad state of our economic infrastructure. We need to restore our political credibility with leaders in the international community. We need to discard the politics of fear. We need to rise to the challenges that face us. Average isn't going to cut it. We all need to strive to be elite and we all should expect nothing less from our leaders.

I'll be quirky...

On this the first day of school, I have oh so many things I should be doing, none of which includes playing a game of blog tag. But guess what? I don't care. Thanks Andrea for giving me a reason to procrastinate a reading assignment in Trusts and Estates.

The Rules:
• Link the person(s) who tagged you.
• Mention the rules on your blog.
• Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
• Tag 6 fellow bloggers by linking them.

1. I practically have a conniption fit every time dirty dishes are left in the sink. I mean, seriously. The dishwasher is RIGHT THERE!!!! Just rinse the dish and move it along to its rightful location in the dishwasher. Many a roommate incurred my wrath by ignoring this basic precept of communal living, but luckily my husband has caught on pretty quickly that this is a cardinal sin akin to leaving underwear on the floor.

2. I cannot sleep if my closet doors are left open. I don't know why this is, but it's a problem I have had since early childhood. I think it might be a residual effect of the archetypal fear of the monsters that reside in there. And everyone knows monsters can't get out of the closet if the doors are shut.

3. I put Tabasco on everything, and even though I'm fairly certain it is eating away at the lining of my stomach, it is my heroin and I must have it. This isn't really an unknown quirk though. Anyone who has ever eaten a meal with me knows that I have to have my Tabasco. I especially love it on popcorn. Don't knock it until you try it.

4. When I am in court, class, or any other type of meeting, I will catch myself mentally translating the proceedings into Spanish. I have no idea why I do this.

5. I twist my hair when I get tired or bored, and I have a very specific lock of hair that I favor. I have twisted this particular lock so much that my corresponding "twisting finger" has a noticable indentation in the area where I pull the hair around it.

6. I rock the game Trivial Pursuit because I am a wealth of useless information.


And to pass along this viral blog, I'm tagging everyone who is reading this blog at this very second, which may or may not add up to six. You know who you are. Go.

Fearful symmetry

It's 9:00am on the very last Saturday of the summer. The lovely Oregon summer is still radiating with warmth and sunshine. It's one of those days where being outside on a blanket with a book is pretty much a moral imperative. And yet here I am...sitting at a table in the library, fighting a panic attack. I came here so I could check out one of my textbooks from the library reserve. First day assignments finally posted, and of course the one textbook I need, the one I ordered a month ago, still hasn't arrived. The bleary-eyed librarian regarded me with curiosity as I asked to check out the book. I stood at the counter for 10 minutes, waiting for his computer to boot up so he could entrust the text to me. Must I really do this again? You will remember that last year I had an epiphany of sorts, when I realized that I probably wouldn't seriously entertain the notion of dropping out again, given the fact that graduation was so close. Now it's a mere 8 academic months away. The longest 8 months of my life. There is another student here in the library with me. He is clearly a 1L. I can tell from his shiny new laptop (mine, dropped more than once, is held together with electrical tape and faith), his slick folder with the Willamette logo emblazoned on the front (really? people carry those around?), and his hopeful expression. Yes, another soon to be former idealist, coming to change the world. And then there's me. I'm still debating over whether or not to take off my sunglasses. I can already feel the ache in my bones, the ache of sitting too long in one position while trying to absorb impossible legal concepts. The ache in my eyes from straining in a dimly lit room amidst shelves of dusty tax codes. The ache in my soul from toiling so long and so hard at something that gives me no joy. At the beginning of the month, I proclaimed to my spouse that I was going to tackle this year with a positive attitude. After all, it's my last year of school, ever! What could be more exciting than that? I was going to savor the last few months of the ivory tower, and I was going to personify optimism. After I get this blog out of my system, I think I'd like to revive that goal. Outside there is a banner welcoming the Class of 2011. On the wall are the smiling faces of the Class of 2008. And in the middle is me...facing down a semester of Federal Income Tax, Secured Transactions, Real Estate Transactions, Deposition Skills, and Trusts and Estates. What about that line up shouldn't induce a panic attack? I think I'll do some reading to numb the thought away. Let's get this party started. The sooner it starts, the sooner I can leave.

All dressed up and nowhere to go

According to a recent article in the New York Times, between 80 and 92 percent of all cases settle. At our office, that statistic certainly holds true, but why do they always wait until the very morning of trial to roll over and die??? Don't they know they're killing my opportunities to be a lawyer?? My annoyance knows no bounds.

Do one thing every day that scares you

I'm a good 3 months removed from my very first court appearance. Every Monday I put on a suit, go into court, and represent the State of Oregon. It's a pretty sweet deal. It has solidified my stance that even though I loathe law school, I'm pretty sure I will love practicing law. Even when things go wrong and I'm shooting from the hip, and almost positive I look like an incompetent student, I'm almost never scared of being in the courtroom. That might not be the case tomorrow. I was recently approached by an attorney in our section who had decided I'd paid my dues as a clerk and that I should start becoming a lawyer. Sounds good to me. She informed me that I had earned the right to be her second chair at trial. Tomorrow I'll start out with my very own witness to question, and gradually work up to more and more, stacking up loads of all that great experience that looks so impressive on a resume. I'm excited, but this also scares me. Right now there are a million things going through my head, ranging from the reasonable (I've forgotten everything I ever learned in Evidence...what are all the exceptions to hearsay?!?) to the irrational (What if I screw up so bad the judge bans all clerks from sitting second chair from here on out? You laugh, but it's happened) to the downright ridiculous (Flats or heels? And if I wear heels, what if I stumble on the way back to my seat after offering up an exhibit?). In my experience handling prima facies, I've been hard pressed to screw up really bad because the process is so utterly non-threatening, plus there are no other attorneys from our office to see if I'm not getting things absolutely right. Tomorrow it's going to be another story entirely. I'm not sure if I'm more scared of looking like a moron in front of the judge and opposing counsel, or looking like a novice in front of the attorney who is taking a chance on me. Okay, it's definitely the latter. Here's to not screwing up.

Dreading the inevitable...for the last time.

If the best things in life are free, why bother working?

I ponder this question on a regular basis as I drag myself out of bed every morning and go do what I do to get a paycheck. I think the answer is that the worst things in life are painfully pricey. I recently celebrated the one year mark at my current position, which came with the requisite pay raise I'd been so desperately needing. Of course, given the fact that my money is only going two places, there is no joy in seeing those bigger numbers every two weeks. I continue to chip away at the student debt I married into. It's depressing, but nothing compared to what I'm getting us into, so I have zero room to complain. But my other major expense is my bar review course. I hope to have that little beast paid in full by the time I graduate because I really don't want to take out $3,000 more in student loans to pay for it. A bar review course, you ask? But aren't you spending $1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 on law school? In theory, aren't you already being taught all you need to know about practicing law so you can pass the bar? The answer to that is a resounding NO, duh. I'm still working on figuring out exactly what it is they're teaching me for all the zillions of dollars I'm paying, but evidently, it's not enough to help me actually become licensed to practice. And only a moron attempts to take the bar without having previously taken some form of bar review course. A friend posted a link to two incredibly humorous/demoralizing articles in the Times, regarding this very insanity. I have to include the excerpts here.


"Why is it necessary to take an intensive (and expensive) review course immediately after completing three years of full-time legal education?
The answer is that the legal education provided by American law schools often leaves graduates with huge debts and little practical knowledge necessary to pass the various state bar exams. This both necessitates the bar review courses and makes them such a crucial aspect of the final phase of becoming a practicing attorney.
Here are a few excerpts from this summer's [bar review] lectures:
On the test's purpose: "What they are testing you on is your ability to memorize."
On choosing from among multiple-choice answers: "If you find yourself engaged in creative reasoning, stop. Remember where you are."
On corporate law: "Why we do this is not relevant for the bar exam. Whether we can do this is."
On the inclination of students to apply today's legal scholarship to traditional doctrines: "The people who write the bar exam are not into feminist jurisprudence."
On questions about a court's authority to hear a case: "The worst way of dealing with one of these questions is to attempt it mentally."
On freedom of religion: "The key to getting these questions right is to avoid thinking for yourself."
On property law: "You must avoid any analysis whatsoever. If you can think, don't." "

If I had to formulate this into a Mastercard ad, I think it would go something like this...
3 years of law school: $1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000
The going rate for your dignity in a Contracts lecture: $20
Bar review course so you can actually become a lawyer: $3,000
Entering a field where the spoils go to those who are expressly advised to avoid thinking for themselves: Priceless.

Oh, the hilarity

Yesterday I got a most unexpected email from a friend with whom I now only keep in touch via Myspace. Evocative of a summer long ago when I was 20 and silly, working an inbound telemarketing gig to pay for college, and clearly cultivating what can only be described as a stellar capacity for alliteration, here is what she wrote...

Monday, June 10, 2002

So I was cleaning out closets, etc. and found a tupperware tub full of stuff from high school and college. I was reading through my old diaries and well, remember when we worked the 4am shift at Convergys? I guess I brought my diary with me and you guys all wrote in it! Marshall, you, Andrea... it's HILAROUS! Here's what you wrote:
" The outlook is bleak; by the time you read this, we'll probably all be dead. Our pathetic call center has been overrun by deranged CEO's and psychotic stockholders who are blaming the implosion of Convergys on the ineptitude of us lowly sales consultants. Okay, so my conversion hasn't been so hot lately. Is that so heinous as to merit a death sentence?? I'm currently cowering in the corner beneath my cubicle. People are screaming. It's dark and I'm afraid. Oh no! The avenging angel of death, Mari Winsor is heading this way! She can eliminate me, but there will be others! Winsor Pilates is a ripoff! Tell the people!! Tell the..... "

I think the only thing I can say to that is "Wow. Who knew working a 4am shift at Convergys could be so comical?" Hooray for keeping journals and sharing the laughs.

Taking inventory...

For some bizarre reason, my thought processes have become much more punctuated lately. I've noticed that my experiences with the world around me tend to take the form of pithy little affirmations in my head. Is this a sign of growing clarity, maturity, and comfort with my surroundings, or is it symptomatic of early onset cerebral degeneration? The answer is probably yes. But here's where I'm at, and how I've been processing things...

At home:
I can't express how glad I am that the meth-cooking neighbors below us got evicted.
Seeing my poor, non-functional car sitting lonely in the parking lot makes me sad.
I really wish I could find a permanent solution to the guest bedroom mold issues...liking moving out.
I am thoroughly fed up with living in an apartment, especially this one.
Going on month two of the great cable tv strike, I'm surprisingly happy about its absence.
Acquiring "new" old episodes of the X-Files on dvd is the best thing ever.
I love the fact that we're finally breaking in "the other side" of the couch, so it doesn't look so lopsided.
Hearing our landline ring still weirds me out.


At work:
Sharing a cubicle...really?
Motions should format automatically.
Duplicate discovery drives me up a wall.
Case files should all come on CD, but evidently the legal profession can't manage to catch up to 1995.
Wearing a suit makes me feel like a grown up.
I dread seeing TPR parents in the courtroom.
Reading case files always gives me the irresistible urge to come home and go on a cleaning spree.
It's depressing that I only get paid a fraction of what my time is billed out for.
Fielding questions from the judge keeps me on my toes.
The gene pool is in dire need of a lifeguard.
State cars should all have GPS.
Serving petitions on inmates is not in my job description.


At church:
Being the lone female in the ward's law students club is sad.
The 10:30 block is inherently superior to the 8:30 block.
Sunday school teachers should all be trained on how to avoid teaching false doctrine.
If kids were in the cards, I never would have been called to teach a group of 11 4 year olds.


At school:
My undergraduate "paper theory" is more germane than ever in a law school setting.
I understand that the topics I don't understand at all are evidently the things I appear to understand the most.
Registering for classes makes me want to gouge my eyes out with my computer cables.
Tuition hikes are insane.
Student loan debt saps my will to live.
39 of 125 shocked the (fill in the blank) out of me.
One more year is one year too many.


In general:
It's lame that I get excited about having things like health insurance and a 401k.
30 is the new 20.
I am obsessed with the amazing sushi restaurant next to my office.
Oregon summers almost make it worth living here during the winter.
Blockbuster by mail was the best idea ever.
The 5 year plan is more than just obsessive compulsive rantings, it's a way of life.
Evening walks and "companionship inventory" are pretty much the highlight of my days.
Tabasco on pizza is glorious.
I minimize my carbon footprint by walking home from work, which makes me feel environmentally responsible.
If my car was functional, I'd probably be less environmentally responsible.
Moonstruck chocolates should not just be a seasonal thing.
26 is going to be a fantastic year.

Summer loafing...

With all the free time that accompanies a hiatus from school, you would think that I would have loads of time to maintain my blog. I'm pretty sure the only excuse I have for the lack of updates is that I am a slacker. I can live with that. Wow, so it's been a little over a month since I put my sweatpants back in my closet, and I have to say summer is treating me quite nicely. I took a few days off between the end of finals and going back to work full time, which was perfect for staying in my pajamas and...reading. I know what you're thinking. I do. "But Becca, you just spent the last semester reading everyday until your eyeballs bled, so what's so why not find something else to do with that precious free time you had?" I appreciate your concern for my wellbeing, but reading fiction and reading cases is akin to drawing a comparison between a leisure walk and a death march. It's a stretch. So thanks, Lyndsey, for the loaner. In keeping with the abysmal state of the economy, Scott and I decided to get our literary fixes the cheap and easy way by finally getting library cards. I'm nerdily psyched about it and must say, my first library check-out, "The Assault on Reason" was thought-provoking.
And then it was back to work. I have to say, the first few days of babysitting new clerks was more fun than it should have been...mostly because I got to sound like I knew what I was talking about. It continues to be fun because I now get to hand off the more distasteful assignments to them, while I focus on preparing for and making court appearances. Which is awesome. Now that I'm actually able to get out of the office and into a courtroom, I'm beginning to think I might really want to be a lawyer. Amazing how that works. Add to my newfound sense of purpose at work a generous pay raise and life is good.
But you know how life can be better? By throwing in a vacation. Yay vacation! Scott and I took a weeklong roadtrip down to San Diego and back, and it was loads of fun. We visited old friends, relatives, warm beaches, and roller coaster nirvana: Magic Mountain. Have I ever mentioned how much I love roller coasters? It's a whole lot. We were sure to hit every single coaster in the park, and it was fantastic. Definitely the highlight of the trip. Other highlights included getting wonderfully lost on the way to the beach at Santa Monica, having a film crew set up shop right next to us on said beach, visiting the Newport Beach temple, nearly dying on multiple occasions at the hands of insane drivers, and the monsoon we encountered at the San Diego Wild Animal Park. I thought we left Oregon to escape the rain. Seriously though. But it was such a wonderful week! Road trips are always fun adventures.
Upon returning to good old Salem, I was delighted to find that grades had been released, yes an entire month to the day of my last exam, and the consensus is that perhaps I don't suck as much as the actual exams would have me believe. Highest law school GPA yet. That's always a good feeling. Just two more semesters to go. I've developed a daily habit of browsing potential job opportunities and daydreaming of the not too distant future when my sense of self worth is no longer tethered to a grade point average, which is probably more as a testament to my severe and early onset senioritis than desire to join the real workforce, but I find it to be a powerful motivator for those times when I start to recoil at the thought of going back to school. And that's the long and short of it.
Yes, all is well and right with the world when summer vacation is in full swing. I'll try to update more regularly, but no promises. After all, I'm on vacation!

Sweatpants...

"Again with the sweatpants?"
"What? I'm comfortable."
"You know the message you're sending out to the world with these sweatpants? You're telling the world, 'I give up. I can't compete in normal society. I'm miserable, so I might as well be comfortable.'"

I used to really love watching "Seinfeld." This was back before we decided to dump our cable TV, but that's another story. In the pilot episode, Jerry and George have the aforementioned exchange, and it popped into my head as I sit here in the library, preparing for exam three of four. It's fascinating to witness the effect finals have on the student population. Usually we all come to school looking, if not dressed to impress, at least neatly groomed. During finals, people start wearing sweatpants...and stop sleeping and showering. Those things take too much time away from studying. It's true though. If you're miserable, you might as well be comfortable. Or as much so as you can muster during this dark, dark hour of mental torture.

Pop the cork...

And start the celebration! No, seriously. Some 3L brought a bottle of champagne to my Admin law class today and when the professor finished his lecture, the kid popped the cork and started getting drunk right there in class. Now, I'm no expert on alcoholism, but isn't 10:00 in the morning a little early to start getting wasted? I know I'll probably be thrilled to hear the last law lecture of my academic career too, but someone should probably let that guy know that there are still two weeks of finals left. And even then, graduating from law school means exactly nothing until you pass the bar. This reality check is brought to you by an overworked 2L, who only wishes she were in that guy's shoes.

Where hope goes to die

Finals sap my will to live. But I have found it helpful to reflect on times past when I still had a life worth living. Or at least blogging about, in something vaguely resembling a positive manner. For your enjoyment (sorry, only viewable to those with a myspace account), the oldies but goodies from my early blogging days. The older the post, the more spirit I still had left in me. The transition from happiness to hell is quite fascinating to witness. http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog&friendID=52579780
As if people really needed proof that law school is a soul crushing abyss...

It may or may not be the headlamp of an oncoming train...

Another semester is winding down. I wrote up my April calendar last week and it was almost jarring to see written down dates and times for my final exams. I haven't quite gotten into full blown panic mode yet, which is odd because next week is the last week of class before exams. I find that the anxiety-fest starts later and later each semester. I'm sure that's a good thing for my mental wellbeing. Not so sure it's a good thing for my level of preparation. Although if my steadily increasing GPA is any indication, I could use a lot less stress in my life. I think another reason why I'm not convulsing in a corner yet is because of the four exams I have to take, two are open book/open note, three of my classes are not going to be graded on the curve, and I found out today that another one of my exams is going to be flexed, so I can space them out more than I've been able to in the past. That is definitely a good feeling. And the most convincing reason as to why I feel okay about blogging right now, rather than committing to memory when ex parte communications are and are not alright in administrative law. This semester has been so crazy busy. I competed in two moot court competitions, passed the professional responsibility portion of the bar exam, judged rounds in the first year appellate competition, and wrote my third year paper. I get a little overwhelmed just thinking about it all, and yet I find that my incidence of seriously entertaining the notion of dropping out are becoming more infrequent. Don't get me wrong, I will probably consider dropping out until the moment they hand me my diploma. And I'm pretty sure that if I could go back and do it all over again, I really wouldn't have undertaken this particular adventure. However, being where I am now, with just one year to go, I'm really glad I've done something that was this hard; something that not everyone can do. Odd, I know. But in less than a month, I'll be a court-certified 3L, handling real cases at work rather than just trial prep for the attorneys, and I'll have a much deserved respite from this academic insanity. Just don't get me started on next year. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to get 15 credit hours with the classes they're offering in the fall, and keep my job and extracurriculars. For some reason, I've already taken most of the bar courses I need, which means I'm either going to have to take a ton of worthless 2 credit classes, or look into credit options at the business school or the liberal arts school. I'm considering taking another advanced spanish class, just to brush up, but a business class could be useful as well. Like I said, don't get me started. Because I really have no idea. I just know that it feels really good to have gotten to this point.

Sidelined

I love to run. For roughly the last 8 years it has been not only a mainstay of my fitness routine, but also a perfect and sane way to burn off the excess stress that always seems to pile up in my life. I can usually track the intensity of my life by my compulsive need to throw on my running shoes and hit the pavement. The month before finals is a good time to start clocking miles. Two weeks ago I bought a treadmill, which is quite possibly the most exciting purchase ever for a runner who lives in a rainy climate. I've been wanting a treadmill for some time, and finally I was able to afford one. And it's glorious. However, fate seems determined to not only rain on my parade, but also to crush all the floats, as I have managed to do some very unfortunate damage to my left knee. Over the course of my life I have been a dancer, a missionary, and a runner; all endeavors that caused my knees to do some hard core popping, but never anything serious. As a missionary my mantra was that if I could get out of bed, I could tract, and only when I was unable to walk would I call for a sick day. It didn't ever come to that, and when I came home, my knees toughened right back up. About two months ago I spent three consecutive days wearing the most uncomfortable pair of high heels imaginable because they just looked so good with my trial competition suit. Over the course of those three days, I started noticing a persistent, dull ache in my knees, which unfortunately did not go away when I changed back into my standard jeans and tennis shoes. A week later the pain was still cramping my style, so I decided to lay off the gym for a while to get over it. When I got my treadmill, I was sure that I would be ready to run again because nearly two months had passed since the offending incident, so I went for it. The first day my knee hurt like crazy, so I took a day in between to rest up. The second time was slightly better. The pain was noticeable, but not unbearable, so I figured I could run through it. That was pretty much the story all last week. Fast forward to yesterday. My knee started to bother me almost immediately, but I didn't pay attention. I was two miles into my run when I felt my knee twist suddenly and that dull persistent ache turned into something vaguely resembling a sledgehammer attack. My knee completely locked up and I think I'm left with no other option but to limp off to the sidelines for a while. This is utterly ridiculous, but I'm fairly certain my body is starting to fall apart. I wonder if there is strict products liability for manufacturing defects in the human body, because at this point I really wish I could sue someone to put me back in my rightful, runworthy position.

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes and quarterlife realizations

The sky is a bizarre color right now. I'm not sure what to make of it. It's neither slate nor ashen...not even black. I think the right word is blue, but that just doesn't seem right. In February in Oregon, the sky should always be some variation on rainy. There's a tree outside the law school building that I noticed today on my way home. It stood out to me because it's rapidly turning pink. Could it be that winter is actually loosening its death grip on the land? It's a possibility. Time marches on. I came home today and actually had some extra time, which I fully intended to devote to studying for the MPRE. Instead I found myself reading a book of letters my dad had compiled for me of our correspondence while I was in Spain. It was a good opportunity for me to reflect on life. It's so full of ups and downs and quite often it just passes by while we're busy doing whatever it is we do. I've already mentioned before that my life has been somewhat of an exercise in survival mode recently. The fact is that I've been that way for about two years now. I'm so focused on surviving law school that everything else has taken a backseat. My theory is that I can get on with life once I cross this minor endeavor off of my "to do list." I know there is much to look forward to, not just after I graduate, but even now as I press on in my schooling. But sometimes I wish I could hit rewind and take life in reverse for a while. I miss being a missionary and having the clarity and perspective that comes with knowing exactly what your purpose is. I miss being an intern, with the self imposed sense of accomplishment that came with working in an important sounding job in the nation's capital. I miss summers at home with new friends and old, having random adventures at pointless jobs. I miss being a crazy, irresponsible, and sleep deprived college freshman, having all the fun random adventures that one can only have while living away from home for the first time. I'm absolutely positive this post has no point whatsoever. I think it's just that I've had a lot of wonderful experiences in my life and I've done pretty much everything I've set out to do, with law school being one of the last major stragglers on that to do list. It is by far the most grown up endeavor I've undertaken and by far the least fun. I think my point is I've really had a blast getting to where I am, but if law school is the tip of the adulthood ice burg, I don't think I really want to grow up.

Everything I needed to know about law school I learned from teaching primary...

For the last month, in addition to my work and school commitments, I've also been teaching a primary class at church, which consists of four and five year olds. There are 9 kids in my class. Every week for two hours on Sunday, I shelf my intelligence and play babysitter to a very precocious bunch. I think the title of "primary teacher" is a misnomer, because I really don't teach. It's quite impossible to teach children that small because they're impulsive, talkative, energetic, and unrestrained by social inhibitions that can only come with time. So my time in primary is spent talking in my "grown-up voice," struggling to keep the children in their chairs and encouraging them to raise their hand when they have something to say. This is of course completely pointless because once one person says something, seven other tiny voices chime in with variations on the exact same statement. It's quite possibly the most exhausting two hours of my week.
I had to teach a class yesterday on juvenile crime in the context of international children's rights. Before you point out the obvious, I know what you're thinking: "Children have rights?" In theory they do. And this particular class is a theory class. Anyway, as part of the grade in that class, everyone has to teach at least once. I think now would be a good time to voice my opposition to paying tuition for professors who foist the teaching responsibilities off on students. But that's not really the reason for this post. My International Children's Rights class consists of about 19 2Ls and 3Ls, and I have to say, by the time you reach the upper echelons of professional training, you expect maturity to be the order of the day. And you would be wrong in that expectation. Very wrong. As I watched the class take the sidenote topic of media restraint and run it into territory completely uncontemplated by the lesson plan, I was overwhelmingly reminded of what it's like trying to teach 5 year olds. One inane comment inevitably leads to a barrage of equally tangential arguments, everyone tries to talk at once, no one listens, and by the time you actually manage to get the class focused back on you and the lesson, 20 minutes have passed and the original message has gotten completely lost in the interim. Perhaps we should spend less time focusing on the finer points of whether or not juvenile criminals should be waived into the adult system and a little more time covering the basics of raising your hand when you want to say something, and even more time reminding people that what they may want to say probably will make everyone else dumber for having heard it, so speak with discretion.

Midpoint malaise and survival mode auto pilot

It's nearly two months into the new semester. This semester started out with quite a bit of promise; my grades fall semester were the highest yet, I even managed to write a high paper in one class...the one I was sure I failed. Go figure. It reminds me of my undergraduate paper theory, how grades are inversely proportionate to effort and crappy papers are always ahead of the curve. Of course starting a new semester means starting from square one. Painfully lame. And in the brief time I've been back, I managed to take on way more than I would ever care to handle in an entire year. I think my rationale was that if I got all my extraneous activities out of the way in the first two months of the semester, I'd have time to get caught up during the last two months. What was I thinking? Last month it was a mock trial competition, this month it's an appellate competition, writing an appellate brief, teaching a two hour seminar class on children and crime, and studying for the Multistate Professional Responsibility Exam. Next month I have to take the MPRE, write my third year paper (I know, I'm only a second year, but I'm taking the class now, so I have to write the paper), and judge rounds in the First Year Appellate Competition. I sat down with my schedule and tried to decide when I would have time to start my outlines and the next opening in my schedule is spring break in March. Two weeks after that are finals and then the year is over. I'm up on the downside, and the law school experience is once again changing shape. The first semester was an adventure: everything was new and exciting, and even though it was a little scary, I was "living the dream" which made it all worth it. The second semester I felt my attention span begin to falter. Classes dragged, my incidence of solitaire playing went up, and I found it hard to really get into any of the subject material. Third semester was drudgery. With school and work, I had zero free time and even less motivation to press on. And here we are, in semester four, and I find myself just going through the motions, nothing more, nothing less. School is no longer fun, new, exciting, or even scary. It's just today, tomorrow, the end of the week. Survival mode is no way to live, but this isn't really life. This is just one more year.