I paused in my criminal law studying last night to go to sleep, and as I lay in bed waiting for the caffeine to disintegrate and let me sleep, I got to thinking. My caffeinated mind ran back to seventh grade and my first series of finals, and I realized: I love finals. I know, I know; estoy loco. But let me explain. I think the feeling is kinda like athletes feel before games. Not having any sports talent whatsoever, I have to take my athletics where I can get them: in the classroom.
I had a professor in college (who had been a Green Beret) who said that mastering logic was like learning how to kill somebody with your hands. Killing somebody with your hands means that you don't need any weapons and that your opponent's weapons don't matter. Mastering logic, similarly, lets you fight an opponent without having any prior knowledge of the subject matter.
I've been trying to master logic since I was 7 years old and watching my dad play logic puzzles. I haven't mastered it yet, and each day in law school is another lesson in how little I know, but the exams--o que bella! You learn all the rules so that you have your major premises. Then you take the facts (which are minor premises) and you get it on. What's that? You intended to cut his arm off and he died from blood loss from the big hole in his shoulder? (Whirs and squeaks as the Logicomastedon does its work.) Ding--§19.02(b)(2) murder.
See? I just killed you with my hands. (Ding--§19.02(b)(1) murder.)
Did I really just write that?