Sincerest Apologies

Though I overestimate my readership, I wanted to apologize to a member of my class to whom I have spoken only once.  When we met, she mentioned her last name.  Someone asked if she was related to the president.  She said, "Actually, yes."  I, being a jerk, made a comment something like "Hey--he's ranked like 41st out of 43 presidents."

Ma'am: I think it's pretty cool if you're related to a president.  That's more than I can say; I am just a bitter person with no family history.  Please accept this as my apology.  I hope you won't hold it against me.

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Echoing Sentiments

Although I feel sorry for the asinine questions asked in Property I (L-Z), and although I like Prof. Property very much, I want the Marine Corps.  I want to be able to brag to my kids about walking barefoot uphill both ways in 110° heat through 18" of snow, only to be kicked out of class because my shoes are muddy.  I signed up for bootcamp, not kindergarten.

Am I a masochist?

Today, a certain student (male or female) entered class at least fifteen minutes late.  I feel bad for himmer; I'm glad it wasn't me; but if it had been me, I'd want Prof. Property to watch me unpack my things, ask me if I had my brief, then walk over and physically kick me out of class (whether or not I had my brief).  That's what the Marine Corps is like.  (Or so I imagine.)  Instead, Prof. Property gave himmer what I call the "baby death penalty": no use of the computer during class.  Whatever.

Then again--the laidback, easygoing nature of Property is rare thing in law school and something that shouldn't be thrown away for dumb pride.  Keep on truckin', Prof. Property.  You have my blessing.

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Take that Smoo

So I'm reading Mark Gimenez's The Color of Law when I ran across this gem:

Now you don't go to Southern Methodist University School of Law if you plan on pursuing a legal career in New York or D.C. or L.A. or even Houston for that matter: it's not exactly the Harvard of the Southwest.  In fact, they say it's a hell of a lot easier to get into the law school at SMU than it is one of the sororities or fraternities at SMU.  You go to SMU law school if and only if you want to practice law in Dallas, Texas, because SMU lawyers have begotten SMU lawyers for so many decades now that the Dallas legal community is more incestuous than the Alabama backwoods of the fifties.

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Do I have Great Expectations?

Last night, I finally finished Charles Dickens's Great Expectations. If you're like me, you probably read it in high school, maybe 9th grade. You probably didn't like it. If you read it now (say, five or six years post-high school), you'll likely enjoy it much more. Or at least I did.

In case you forgot, this rite-of-passage story follows Phillip Pirrip (a.k.a. Pip) from about the age of 6 until something like 30. At first, Pip's sister is taking care of him, along with her husband, Joe Gargery. The story begins with Pip delivering "wittles" to an escaped convict. Next thing we know, the local rich and eccentric lady, Miss Havisham, invites Pip over to play. There, he meets Estella, a more innocent (but not much) version of Steinbeck's Cathy. Predictably, Pip's taste of the high-class world of wealth makes him jealous for it and discontented with his blacksmith's destiny.

Eventually, Pip receives news that he has "great expectations." Thence begins the story of Pip's spoliation, devastation, and eventual reincarnation as somebody worth spitting on.

Like I said, when I read it in 9th grade, I didn't like it. When I saw the movie a few years after, I still didn't like it. I read it now, and I can relate to Pip these days. I have had times in my life where I was as low as Pip got. It supports a theory of mine: that we only like stories (be they books, movies, magazines, whatever) where we can relate to a character or where we wish we could relate to one of the characters.

Venus in Waco

I just wanted to let everybody know that the weather today is beautiful. I discovered that I left two books I have to read at school, drove up I-35 to get them, and on my way home, the bottom dropped out. It was beautiful. I want to steal Bono's metaphor, and call it a "black belly of cloud in the rain." (I don't really know what that means, but it's in the middle of his classic "Running to Stand Still," which is what law school is all about. Very pertinent as I begin to read about future interests in transferees.) Anyway, if you haven't read Ray Bradbury's The Illustrated Man, I highly suggest you go out and borrow it from your library right now and read the story about rain in Venus. I can't remember what it's called, but I know it's definitely not "The Veldt."

Yes, I am encouraging you to read Ray Bradbury rather than your Property homework. It's OK. She'll understand. (Prof. Godzilla, or as some people would rather, Prof. Kasparov or Prof. Big Blue, however, will not understand. Read your Civ Pro first.)

I smiled while Tokyo was Burning

I have been absent for sometime. I no longer work in the ALICO building. Now, I'm a lowly 1Q at fun's morgue (I think U.S. News & World Report has us as "Baylor Law." Like they know anything). Anyway, I thought it'd be fun to pull this out and act like I'm going to make a habit of posting. We'll see.

Today, Tokyo burned. I hear from reliable sources that there are several 1Q blogs, so I won't go into the details, but Prof. Civ Pro (whom I'll call "Prof. Godzilla" for now) gave the fall starters an earful today. I'll just share my ridiculous problem because, in my egomania and narcissism, I think you care.

It all started when Prof. Godzilla called on Ms. Brown (a clever nickname that, for her sake, I hope no one figures out) to talk about the case. She was obviously struggling. We all cringed inwardly. Prof. Godzilla's first burst of radiation: "Brown, if this is the best you can do, you seriously need to consider something else." What he was really saying, though, was "1Qs, if this is the best you can do, you seriously need to consider doing something else." We all cringed. Except me.

I smiled.

Then, when Ms. Brown was sufficiently humiliated, Prof. Godzilla decided to play Wittgenstein and burn down our favorite philosopher, Mr. Grifom (for "guy right in front of me"). Poor Grifom, Prof. Godzilla can't even pronounce his name,* but he can devastate better than King Kong. Now, as I said Grifom sits right in front of me, so when Prof. Godzilla is radiating Grifom, I'm catching the stuff that misses Grifom. My arm hair is singeing. We all cringe in humiliation when Prof. Godzilla asks Grifom if he's proud of his incompetence. What do you say? But the best was when Prof. Godzilla asks: "Griffum, is Chicago smarter than you?" [Grifom hesitates] "Because I sure hope not." While Tokyo burns, let's burn down the Second City, too. Everyone's eyes bore into the desks below them as they cringe.

I don't. I smile.

Ever since I was little, I have had this ridiculous problem: I smile when I'm in trouble. I giggle uncontrollably like a little fat girl in a candy shop with her crush (who doesn't know her name). I bite my tongue, I pull down the corners of my mouth, I stare like an idiot at my papers, I imagine horribly depressing things. Nothing worked when I was six; nothing works today. Conclusion: I am a masochist who thrives on humiliation. I guess law school is perfect for me.

*(I stole the footnote idea from Poseur.) Prof. Godzilla: "Grighfum or Greefum?" Grifom: "Greefum." Godzilla: "OK. Griffum, tell us about the case."