making the rounds

An EBay auction to warm the cockles of a divorce lawyer's heart.

Courtesy of my friend K.

alternate career paths

TPB, Esq., who, I note, was born in the same hospital that I was, describes his first foray into geocaching.

My husband and I have been finding geocaches on and off for a few years now. If we're geocaching in a populated area, it's always guaranteed to get a few stares. Picture two adults, sometimes wrapped in dripping rain gear in the winter, sometimes covered in dirt from a crawl through a dry stream bed. We trudge in circles around an increasingly smaller area, muttering to each other and bent over a little plastic GPS. "Let's go a few steps this way." We do, straight into bushes and stones. We lift branches, we peer into the crooks of trees, and we scale rocks. We do not, by any stretch of the imagination, look dignified.

It's a funny thing, this business of finding a secret stash. "I found it!" one of us will shout, and the other runs up. We know it's just a container with cheap plastic toys and maybe the occasional lucky penny. But it's something we found, a little mystery we solved together. For a moment I am Nancy Drew, and my husband is another intrepid detective, we haven't yet decided which one, but definitely not one of the Hardy Boys because they're such poncy goody-goodies.

I want to be a pirate queen and find hidden treasure around the world. They probably don't make you take finals to be a pirate queen.

an afternoon of studying

Exams start in a week. I've been studying all day today.

My cats occasionally drop by, languid in the warm weather, stretching each individual claw methodically.

"You are silly," they observe, "weather like this is meant for lying around." The littlest tabby, as ever concerned for any member of the household engaged in aberrant activities, jumps up on the desk. She is a little startled by the effort expended, and spends a moment collecting herself by perching in the window and the warm breeze. I too take a short break and enjoy the breeze.

When she recovers she walks towards my laptop, a heat-radiating device that normally is irresistably attractive to the felines of the household. She sniffs at it disparagingly.

"The sun is considerably more effective than this laptop." Her meaning is clear.

I mention that the energy I am expending in front of this very laptop is intended in part to keep her awash in gourmet cat food, faux fur toys, and her favorite drug, catnip.

She shrugs and jumps down, unimpressed. She heads back outside onto our patio for some healthy sunning and napping. I head back to Rule 56, summary judgment, and Celotex Corp. v. Catrett.

summertime, and the living is easy

Exams are a scant week away, with no Thankgiving break, and yet students are laughing, making plans to go out, and smiling in the hallways.

Summer has arrived here, taking with it a little bit of blustery rain and any desire to study. Why study when it's summer? Summer is for beach trips, long evening walks, open air cafes and mojitos made with fresh mint from the bursting garden.

We don't do all this, of course, because we are in law school which means that we're motivated and mostly we like it. But when the warm breeze floats in the open window and flips the pages of Federal Rules of Civil Procedure there is a moment in which we're transported away to some place far away from courtrooms and Rules 56, 11, and 13. And then the breeze dissipates and we are left, a little resigned, with permissive and compulsory counter-claims.

mail call

The place where I'm working this summer sent me a care package filled with cookies, brownies, some highlighters, a post-it pad and a little card. The card read "Good luck with finals!" The box was tied up with an elaborately constructed royal blue bow.

I am now outlining and munching on a double-chocolate brownie. Yum. Am very much in favor of surprise gifts.

photographic proof

For a long time I thought Carmen Electra was actually a man, a drag queen. I think I got her mixed up with Ru Paul.

Tonight while browsing Yahoo! News - Most Popular, and incidently not outlining or studying at the same time, I found this photo of Ms. Electra. I think I may move back to my original theory.

the realization

wtf. Only two weeks before my first final exam?

Wasn't January, like, yesterday?

performance art in the classroom

A few days ago we were discussing a torts case in which a woman was given a negligent tubal ligation. Oops. Two years later she discovered she was pregnant.

Prof. Torts called E. up to the front of the room.

"What's a tubal ligation?"

E., edgy at being called to the front of the classroom, stammered through the beginning of an explanation of tubal ligations, but it wasn't going anywhere. He paused.

"I'll just give you the explanation my junior high sex ed teacher gave us. He was the basketball coach, a big guy."

The class was immediately riveted. The phrase "junior high sex ed teacher" is not one normally used in law school classrooms. Prof. Torts raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"So my teacher, he palmed two basketballs and held them out to his side." E. demonstrated, stretching his arms out to their full lengths and curving his hands as though he were holding basketballs. "Pretend I'm holding basketballs."

"So these, these are the ovaries," he said while fluttering his wrists. "And these, these are the Fallopian tubes." E. enthusiastically waved his arm up and down, which, combined with the wrist fluttering, meant he resembled a rather large flapping bird.

E. stopped flapping and started rubbing his stomach and chest. "This part, this is the uterus." He looked up at the class. "You know, like where the babies are carried?" Several students, familiar with the function of the uterus, nodded though their giggles.

E. continued. He squatted down a little, and started knocking his knees together while crossing his arms and hands over his kneecaps like an overenthusiastic Bob Fosse dancer.

"And this," he triumphantly concluded, hands waving frantically over his knees, "this is the vagina!"

The class lost it. Even Prof. Torts was laughing. There was a long pause while we all recovered. E. grinned.

"So to answer your original question, a tubal ligation would be if I had broken my elbows." E. straightened up and held his arms back out with his elbows askew at odd angles. "Or really, as if I had knotted my elbows. But I can't demonstrate that."

Prof. Torts nodded gravely. "Mr. E., your knowledge of the female reproductive system leaves something to be desired." Prof. Torts grinned broadly. "But I wouldn't have missed that for the world."

the popular vote

I'm not sure how it happened, but my wee little corner of the legal blog world has been placed on a Law Student Blog Honor Roll poll that's being run by Venturepreneur.

It's always lovely to be acknowledged, but in the cruel manner of the popular vote (we are not in Florida here, alas), a vote for me means a no vote for Glorfindel or Waddling Thunder or Buffalo Wings & Vodka, who is now entering my blogroll because he made me snort in an extremely unladylike manner during civil procedure, thus triggering an IM comment from my friend M. about my lackluster ability to breathe and type at the same time, which itself caused enough of a peculiar snuffling sound that my professor glanced rather severely in my direction. Yeah, um, my allergies are really bad this year. Anyhow. Those guys are really good.

you won't like your classmates

Among the various statements I heard about law school before I went, that was probably one of the more puzzling. "You will like the subject matter, and you'll like the professors, but your classmates, you won't like them."

Since I compulsively gather information, I had read books, interviewed lawyers, read websites and blogs, and talked with many people before I decided to go to law school. I heard a lot of advice, much of it repeated. This particular advice came up a few times, not often enough for me to take it seriously but enough for me to wonder.

Clearly I'm not the only one who has heard it. I received email a few days ago from an engineering student, considering law school but worried about how engineers were received in law school. "I heard that I probably wouldn't like my classmates, but you seem to like yours."

I do. My classmates are one of the best parts of law school. I look back on that advice and laugh. My classmates are smart, motivated, compassionate, idealistic, funny, hard-working, generous, and respectful. Sure, some of them have their quirks. Sure, not everybody is happy all of the time with everything. But heck, who doesn't have quirks? Who is happy all of the time?

I'm not saying that there aren't law schools or environments where you might not like your classmates. I was astonished on my first day of class with students outside of my section. But even that person has calmed down since the first day of class, and what astonished me the first day now strikes me as the contributions of a worried student, a person who isn't quite able to express himself well but who cares deeply about the subject matter. And, of course, everybody is entitled to the occasional bad mood.

But most days, allowing yourself a bad mood day here or there, you'll like your classmates. Honest. And, if you're lucky like me, they'll be one of the best parts of your law school experience.

discovering the unexpected

As you are well aware, I strongly disliked my moot court class. However, no matter how much I whined about it, I had oral arguments to complete. I had to unleash the nuclear weapons to force myself to prepare.

So Monday evening came, me in my suit and my Mom (Dad couldn't make it, unfortunately) in the courtroom. I was nervous, worried that despite the preparations I would make a fool of myself. My moot court professor told me that the judges were trying to get people off track and I should stick with my original argument, and then we were ushered into the court room.

My T.A., acting as bailiff, announced, "All rise. The Honorable Justice B. presiding." The three justices filed in. One of them looked uncannily like Frodo the Hobbit in black judges' robes.

We sat back down. My turn. I took a deep breath and stood up to the podium.

"May it please the court. My name is T., and I represent the petitioner. I would like to reserve three minutes for my rebuttal."

Justice B. nodded gravely. "Your request is granted, Counsel."

Another breath. "Your Honors, I have two points I would like to make tonight." I stated my two points in a single sentence, and began my second sentence.

Justice Frodo interrupted me. "Counsel, why do you take the position you do regarding your second point?"

"Okay," I thought, "Justice Frodo is taking me off track. I won't fall for it." I tried to answer his question and then get back to my first point, as my moot court professor had advised.

Justice B., the presiding judge, frowned and interrupted me, asking me a question about the second point. Clearly the justices wanted to talk about the second point.

I tried once more to get back to my original plan, but I could tell they didn't like it. So about three minutes into oral arguments, I gave up on my professor's advice. I let go of my planned discussion, and simply followed the flow of the questions.

And, shockingly, I found I liked it. My Secret Lawyer Twin made another appearance. Up there, questions being fired from all three justices, she popped right back up. My blood was pumping, my hands were shaking, but somehow the words came out of my mouth and made sense.

The time went very quickly. Too quickly. I was caught by surprise by the one minute warning and had to hurridly wrap up. I thought I had more time.

My opponent came up to the podium. She did a fantastic job. The justices grilled her, asking very difficult questions, and she held her own very professionally. She had been nervous, like me, and I was glad to see her Secret Lawyer Twin emerge as well.

 Then I was back up at the podium. The rebuttal flew by, three minutes in which I tried to answer two questions fired at me and also conclude my argument.

When I finished there was a momentary silence and then Justice B. nodded at both of us. "Thank you, Counsel." The bailiff called out, "All rise." It was over.

Outside, I chatted hurridly with my opponent. She was as shocked as I was by the entire process. "Did you think it went by really quickly," she asked me, "faster than you expected?"

"Yes, definitely." I shrugged, figuring that I had simply miscalculated the time.

My moot court professor came up to us. "Good work. You both did a terrific job. By the way, I shortened your arguments by three minutes each. We were running out of time. Hope you don't mind." She waved airily. "I wanted to give you more time for feedback and I thought you might want to get it over with anyhow."

My opponent and I looked at each other, flabbergasted. It had indeed gone by too quickly. My professor had cut off our time in front of the judges by twenty percent without warning us ahead of time.

My opponent and I shrugged. The class was over. This was yet another reminder of how annoying the class was and how happy we were to be done.

But I did learn something out of the entire thing: I like being in front of the judges. I like the racing heart, the hard questions, the lightening quick responses, even the sweaty, shaky hands.

I am not going to try out for the moot court team; my bad attitude about the entire process hasn't melted to the point where I want to consider that possibility. But I like being up there. I'm glad I am in law school. This is what I want to do. And that, despite the annoyance of moot court in general, is always a pleasure to find out.

deploying my weapons

I decided I was sick of my bad attitude towards moot court. As, I'm sure, a good percentage of you were. My bad attitude prevented me from preparing effectively for oral arguments tonight and I was displeased with myself.

So I employed the anti-slacker nuclear weapon, a lethal bad attitude killer: I invited my parents to oral arguments.

I may be willing to make a fool of myself in front of my moot court professor, my TAs, and the judges, but even though I am past thirty years old, I'm still not willing to let my parents see me do it.

Wish me luck. Even with the nuclear weapon, I think I'll need it.

have returned to human status

It's amazing what a few nights of sleep and normal health will do. My cold has subsided to a growl in my throat, something I hope proves to be very intimidating tomorrow in oral arguments. I don't hate moot court any more.

I'm glad I rarely get sick. I think I'd be very grumpy all of the time.

upon reflection later

I am fairly certain that I violated my no-whining rule tonight.

It's true I'm deeply frustrated with moot court, but given that my head is killing me, my nose is rubbed raw from tissue, my throat is sore, and my computer still isn't back from the shop, you could put the Dalai Lama in front of me and I'd find something to gripe about.

So. I am going to bed. Tomorrow is a new and hopefully less sickly day.

bad attitude

I have developed very bad attitude towards moot court. I don't even like to capitalize it.

My bad attitude started with my biased professor, but that's not where my frustration lies now. I threw myself into my brief and I relished her bias because it sharpened my argument.

The problem is that now I care. I've forced myself into the mind of a criminal prosecutor, turned a small part of myself into a little alien who doesn't think that juveniles should have any special Miranda protections. Now I find that I care about that little alien. I want to argue passionately for it. I want to cheer on the prosecutor's side, even if most of me would prefer that the actual Supreme Court eventually crush the little alien.

And yet, now, a few days before my oral argument, I find that I don't have to wait for the Supreme Court to crush my little alien. I'm going to do it myself.

The moot court system takes us first-year law students and gives us eight short weeks to craft an argument that could ostensibly be made in front of the Supreme Court. To accomplish this goal, the Record is cut and trimmed to a small binder of facts, down from the boxes of evidence that would accompany an actual case. We are restricted from researching any briefs filed in the case. If there are multiple issues before the Supreme Court, the class is usually limited to discussion on one.

In other words, it's an artificial and information-restricted environment. Moot court is a communal 1L version of "Let's Pretend.” It’s the school playground. I engage in the fantasy that I have something to say, but I can't speak with any true authority on the issue. My little alien is doomed.

Of course I know logically that I need only do my best in this little playground, that a first year law student would never get in front of the Supreme Court and a first year law student doesn't have the time to truly craft her argument. Of course this is a law student playground; what else could it be? The point is the experience, not the argument. Of course I know all this.

But I still feel frustrated and hamstrung, still feel like I'm hobbling rather pathetically through the hoops.