is there no justice?

Alright, one of the shitty things about law school and the bar exam is that one teaches and one tests a subject called "Professional Responsibility." These are the rules that govern a lawyer's conduct. Some of them are pretty easy to discern (e.g. don't have sex with clients, don't steal client funds, etc). Some are a little more complicated (e.g. imputed disqualification, conflicts of interest in situations where clients are not materially adverse).

In practice, I think that these rules have very little application in the day to day thoughts of most attorneys. You instinctively maintain client confidences and its pretty easy to avoid having sex with a client. However, this doesn't stop some of the less honorable in the profession from using them as a sword against others -- rather than a guide for their own conduct. And, rarely -- if ever, are such accusations justified.

The most interesting thing about this is the blanket statement made my some -- "You are breaking some of the rules!" What the hell is this supposed to mean? From my perspective, this is akin to me standing on the sidewalk, waiting for a bus and someone running up to me and saying -- "You are breaking the law!!!!!!''

What rules? What law? Do people not understand that veiled threats and general claims carry with them no tenacity, gravity or need for concern? Specificity will set you free . . . seriously.

Way back in the day, I recall learning a valuable lesson on the playground during recess. The value of specifics. On this particular day -- my friend (Mikey) and I became embroiled in a conflict with the (C)lawson cousins -- Chris and Shawn. Words were said, four-square balls were thrown, sexuality was questioned, mothers were insulted . . . nothing was sacred.

At this point, the tension was undeniable and I feared that Mikey and I were going to get our asses throttled by the (much) larger (C)lawson clan. Then, in all of his infinite wisdom -- Mikey appealed to the only tool that he knew would get us out of this situation -- specificity.

Without warning, Mikey launched into a very specific and completely emotionless diatribe focusing on EXACTLY how he and I were going to throw these meatheads the beating of the century. Specific body parts were mentioned, specific pains described, specific outcomes expounded upon. The end result of all of this was that the (C)lawson's became fully convinced that only a madman who was hell bent on inflicting the max amount of pain (and had clearly taken a great deal of time to research and consider how those ends could be met) would make such a wild, untethered, seemingly homicidal claim.

Needless to say, by the time Mikey wrapped it up -- the (C)lawson's were not in the mood for being anywhere near Mikey. They ran away as fast as their overdeveloped frames would carry them.

At this point, I was in shock. I couldn't believe (1) that Mikey had it in him to stare death in the face and fight back, and (2) that his strategy had worked. When I finally got over my shock, I said to Mikey, "HOLY SHIT [ed. note -- cussing was really cool in 5th grade] . . . I can't believe they just ran off!"

Mikey's reply? "Gotta be specific. It's the only way people know you are serious."

Mos def, Mikey. Mos def.

the end and the beginning . . .

So much for using this thing to track bar prep and my reactions to the entire journey. Bar prep is what it is - a 2 month cram session during which you attempt to learn stuff that will never be of use to you in the real world.

For example, did you know that if you capture wild animals running across your land -- they are yours! This means soon I will have my own raccoon family. Its going to be great! Also, under the doctrine of entrustment -- if you leave a personal possession of yours with a merchant (i.e. someone who deals in goods of that particular type), they are free to sell it for fair market value without asking you -- and are obligated only to give you the money! So, you have a watch given to you by your grandfather. You take it to a horologist to get it fixed and he tells you to come back a week later. On your return, you find that the horologist has sold the watch -- but now has some money for you. What the hell is that crap all about?!?!?!?

Anyways . . . that chapter (fondly entitled, "Education") has now come to a close and a new chapter ("Work") is starting. As you can plainly tell, its Monday and I am not at work. I was told that I needed a few days to relax -- and apparently this means that I am not supposed to go to work on Monday. So, work starts tomorrow. I am looking forward to it, while hoping and praying that I remember exactly where my desk is -- and how to do my job. Its been awhile.

i'm not the only one, right?

Frequently in life, I find myself experiencing events that I wonder if other people have experienced. Yesterday was no exception to this phenomenon. However, a little back story may be in order!

My father in law is a big time sailor. Loves it. Talks about, thinks about it, wants to do it all the time. Its good to have a hobby and sailing is the one he has chosen. While I am not as into it as he is, its still a good time -- and it has been fun to learn the basics from him.

He sails with a group of other guys (collectively, the fleet) every other weekend. They go from place to place to race their boats. Its fun to watch, and even more fun to participate in. The fleet is composed of guys from all walks of life and with varying degrees of experience. One of these guys forms the basis of my story.

This particular guy (referred to in our family as "B.O.", because he smells like BO), is quite easily the dirtiest person I have ever met who was not homeless. I am dead serious. He always has food all over himself, his boat/car is filthy. If I did not know better, I would assume this guy was homeless. He is not. He is a firefighter. That's kind of an impressive profession, right? Helping people . . . making the world a safer place. I am 99.99% sure that is NOT why B.O. got into firefighting. He got into it for the glory. How do I know this? Because everytime I have to talk to B.O. all he can talk about is how many people he has pulled from the clutches of death. I am not exaggerating this at all. It's hard to take a guy seriously when his shirt could be studied by a geologist to determine every meal the dude had in the last 2 weeks . . . and its even harder to believe such a guy actually provides a valuable social service.

Anyways . . . now you know B.O. He is the main character in my "experience". I am not sure if B.O. has memory loss, or just cares so little about people that he doesn't think it worthwhile to remember the names/faces of people he meets. I have (literally) been introduced to B.O. 10-12 times over the last 4 years. Always the same set of circumstances (regatta, some fleet event). Every single time, he acts as if we have never met. I mean every single time. Without fail.

So, we are currently hosting a regatta at our summer place. 10 boats and all their crew converged on the house last night for dinner. I was tasked with running the grill. No big deal. I love grilling -- so I was happy to help out. I have been at the grill for 30 minutes or so when B.O. walks up, introduces himself, and starts to lecture me on how to grill. Trying to be nice, I just stand there -- smiling, nodding and acting interested in what he is saying. I finish up the grilling and start eating. B.O. follows me -- now, well into stories about how he saves lives. The night progresses and B.O. talks the entire time. I wonder if they guys at his station house can stand him . . . or if he is the nerdy guy in the house who only feels like a "real" firefighter when he is out amongst the public.

At the end of the night, as B.O. is heading back towards his boat (presumably to sleep in a little pile of dirt), he turns to me and says -- "Well, thanks for your help grilling, Alex. I probably couldn't have fed all these people without your help." I am shocked . . . homeboy has no idea what my name is, and has convinced himself that he, not anyone else, prepared all the food.

The real kicker . . . this same thing happened 3 years ago at a different regatta (me on the grill, him lecturing while drinking my beer) except in that instance -- he called me Allan.

I guess I should give him points for at least getting the first letter of my name right. But, am I the only person who experiences like this in life? I sure hope not.

new day . . . new post

Today was a big one. Hillary Clinton finally announced an end to her campaign, which makes my jokes about painting her and Ron Paul with the same brush dated and passe. This is kind of depressing (the loss of the joke), but drives home the point that when you write something that hinges on pop culture, it has a shelf life of approximately 13 minutes. Such is life I guess.

Also, today Naveen Haq (Jewish Federation shooter) was granted a mistrial. I literally can not believe that. The jury was in deliberation for 8 days. The last time I was on jury duty, we deliberated for a day and a half -- which seemed like a decade. All that we had to figure out was if the crime was first or second degree murder (defendant admitted to killing the victim during direct testimony). I can not imagine deliberations with 15 charges and affirmative defenses. No, thanks.

Bar prep is what it is. If you haven't been through it, there is nothing I can say to fully explain what it is like -- but I will give it a shot anyways. Boredom, stress, a mountain of work and the occassional moment that blows you away. You realize that the three years and countless dollars spent earning your J.D. didn't teach you a thing about the law. This is a somewhat disconcerting realization.

the closer you get to the finish line . . .

As I write this, I am less than one week from completely wrapping up and putting a stamp on my law school career. Finally. Spent most of this week finishing up take home finals and writing papers that serve no real world purpose. If the people in the take home finals fact patterns came to me and asked that I be their attorney -- I would laugh and show them to the door. I don't have time for the insane people professors conjure up for exam questions. This just illustrates how much of a joke law school really is. It's kind of sad actually.

Anyways, as my academic career (and yes, "career" is the right word) comes to a close, I look back on what I have not learned, and find myself somewhat disgusted. How in the world did the education system let me skate without having taken a math class? Granted, i have no need for calculus or even algebra in everyday life -- but come on, I am going to be someone's lawyer -- and I haven't taken a math class since my freshman year -- of HIGH SCHOOL. I guess Zack Morris was right -- everything is a negotiation, and if you play right --you never have to do what you don't want to do. Amazing to me the valuable lessons I learned from SBTB (Saved By The Bell, for those of you not in the know).

So . . . the random meanderings of my twisted mind aside -- I am now going to get serious about this blog and allow it to serve as a journal for what life is really like during bar prep. If you are thinking about going to law school, read those sections (when done) and ask yourself if after 3 years and $100k you really want that kind of shit in your life.

If you are in law school, well it's too late for you. Just spend your time figuring out what your favorite drink is and how to order it at a bar quickly and with effficiency. For example, if you are me it's -- "Hangar. Double. Neat." See how easy that was?

why do i feel like i am taking crazy pills?!?!?!

Ok, so I have been a student for longer than I care to think. Honestly, if my first day of school (way back in the early/mid-80's) had been my first day working for a corporation, by now I would have a pension and be counting down the days until retirement. Alas, in reality -- I am preparing to enter the workforce for the first time. This is semi-sickening.

However, the silver lining in all of this school has been to develop an acerbic wit. Some say this is more of a problem than a gift -- and if we were going to discuss those haters in the future we would refer to them as "idiots".

An unintended consequence of all this school is that I expect classes to be a boiled down trudging through material and any disturbances that derivate from that experience infuriate me.

For example, I was in class today and we were reviewing the policy arguments and legal considerations associated with patenting life forms. [NOTE: while I am sure I am supposed to have a stance on this, I really could care less.] In argument against the patenting of life, a guy in the class ("McJackAss") starts his argument, citing Frankenstein as a reason for NOT granting patents on life.

OK, if you are opposed to patenting life forms -- thats fine with me. As previously stated, I don't give a crap. However, if you are going to argue against patenting life forms, and the best evidence you can find is a FUCKING WORK OF FICTION, maybe its time to revise your position.

Law school is not cheap, McJackAss. Last time I checked this shit was more expensive than calling sub-Saharan Africa collect. Thanks for wasting my time and money. My children are going to be hungry tonight because some idiot wasted Daddy's hard earned money by talking about Frankenstein. [Ed. Note: I really don't have any kids.] I hope you are happy, McJackAss. I am going to get my $$ out of you somehow.

UNC Rules, Clay Bennett Drools!

Alright . . . the mighty TarHeels topped the Blue Devils of Duke (appropriately lead by the collegiate equivalent to the devil -- Coach K). Why is this important? It's really not -- unless you are a Duke fan. If you are, you no doubt woke up this morning feeling unfulfilled. How did the Heels defeat the Devil's Machine? Rebounding and being original gangstas! HA HA HA. In the words of a Rainier Beach cheerleader (circa 1988) -- "Sha-RITA, Capricorn!!!"

But, with the good comes the bad. The Sonics are leaving for OKC. Its a done deal. Gregoire said on Friday that she doesn't see a way to keep them in town. Stern sided with Devil2.0 (Clay Bennett -- I bet he is related to Coach K) and screwed all of us to bring an NBA team to the 43rd largest market in the U.S.

Normally, I would poke more fun at Steve Ballmer (of MSFT -- "DEVELOPERS! DEVELOPERS! DEVELOPERS!!!" fame), but like a good filthy rich guy, he got a few of his buddies together and tried to make something happen by throwing millions of dollars at our problem. However, apparently this is too little too late.

Meanwhile, the team has quit on Carlesimo (yeah, because no one saw that one coming) and every asset we had not named Durant or Green has been traded for twenty five cents on the dollar. However, the OKC Sonics have something like 5 first round draft picks over the next 3 years and enough cap room to do whatever they want. This is making me ill to type.

Can anyone say collusion? I have lost all faith in David Stern (read: the NBA is dead to me), Devil2.0 (you are now on my shit list), Howie Schultz (responsible for this whole mess -- and your coffee sucks) and Christine Gregoire (If the alternate were anyone aside from Dino "I Hate Education and Teachers" Rossi . . . she would not be getting my vote).

At least Karate Kid, Part II is on TV to comfort me in this, my hour of need.