It's Not That I'm Ready...

Finals are upon those waiting for their turn at the Bar. We've reviewed out materials, drafted outlines (or in my case collated all the notes, outlines, lectures audio files) into a comprehensible attack format and should be prepared for our exams.

Of course, none of us ever truly are prepared. The malleability of the law, due in no small part to the flexibility of language and the shifting political concerns of the day, create complex issues the greatest legal scholars fail to provide fully sufficient answers for. What limits should be raised upon police action with regard to the right to counsel prior to indictment? How can society best ensure the protection of media industry's rights while satisfying average owners expectations of "ownership?" Must the right to free speech continue unhindered by any governmental intervention, or may society disallow conversations found to be useless as a matter public discourse?

I have no answer to any of these questions, but am prepared to take on the first, have an inkling as to the third, and the second . . . well, the second I will leave to those with an interest. Suffice to say that we, mere law students with a few months education in a variety of increasingly complex legal issues, are abhorrently unprepared for the task ahead of us.

Yet, we generally persist on in our studies. The promise of money undoubtedly underlies many of my classmates' aspirations . A thirst for knowledge, while not of paramount concern, can be found in everyone's eyes. Mostly, however, we fear the potential to falter. The average intelligence of a law student surpasses that of many other fields. We are bright and interesting individuals who generally work the system so that any potential that might be worked over is nullified.

And that fear was greatest at the end of my 1L year. A body of law so profoundly daunting so as to make any other mental challenges pale in comparison was before us, and the exigency of perfection was promoted by our terror. Not even the possibility of the unanswerable hypothetical causes me to lose a moment's sleep.

The fear is gone. I'm a 2L, and I have a stable internship in an office I hope to work at some point. I know what my future holds to some degree of certainty.

So, it is not my adequate(?) level of preparation that gave me a pass to write this post. It is that I am not afraid anymore, and think it is okay to procrastinate. God help me if my lack of fear puts me in a terrifying position on my report card.

Catharsis On A Bone

From an early age I loved ribs. Beef, pork, lamb, whatever; where gnawing is necessary, I am happy as a clam. (Conversely, that you don't have to gnaw on clams makes them an inferior food source.)

Today, I made a personal pilgrimage to my food Mecca. That is, I went to Reno. The Nugget's "Best of the West Rib Cook-Off" gave me the opportunity to taste a variety of ribs, baked beans, coleslaws and hush puppies. I ate until waddling became necessary. I killed an acre of the rainforest in napkins, and ate the accompanying wildlife equivalent in pork products. In scale form, I caused the polar ice caps (here, ice cubes) to melt.

And I am coming back next year.

Look at this photo. Notice the charred edges. You, my fortunate readers, are literally SEEING flavor. The sauce tasted like a honey/ketchup base, but had a decent amount of pepper. I later tasted a rib with a sauce only applied before being removed from the heat, and the textural experience of eating the rib suffered: the sauce's coating made the cook's skill in determining "doneness" (a magical moment few are capable of perfectly determining) a non-issue. The second rib's meat was more moist. The first had a sauce. If the second had had a sauce, I may have asked permission to follow them on the road.

While the recipes captivated my attention, the tools and techniques would impress anyone (even blasphemers who "don't like ribs"). Recipes are proprietary secrets closely guarded by individual grilling competitors. The monstrous tools necessary for the mass production of barbecue cause me to hope (pray) for a back yard large enough to house my own twenty foot grill. And two sides of pork to grill. No. Four sides. Six? . . . Please?

My own fixations on barbecuing aside, the competitors have expertly grilled for eight hours a day over the past 3 days. They will continue their efforts for the next three days. These lucky few are living the dream, as demonstrated below.

For the record, this man literally painted barbecue sauce on six racks of ribs. Inferior doesn't adequately describe my immediate reaction.

This gentleman relaxing before 8 racks of ribs. . . and a controlled fireball. If John Nash (of "A Beautiful Mind" and "Game Theory" fame) mathematically expressed the relative career of the griller and me, he would determine: Grillmaster >>>> Lawyer.

Note the four "greater than" characters.

More of the same, but this grill and griller arrived from Texas to be voted the best ribs in show. I wholeheartedly agreed.

If anyone has any (hidden) interest in attending next year, let me know. I will be making a second pilgrimage to this holy place where mana rains down from above. I mean . . . wait. I'm not obsessed.

Avoiding the Grind

"The wheel of the Good Law moves swiftly on. It grinds by night and day. The worthless husks it drives from out the golden grain, the refuse from the flour. The hand of fate guides the wheel; the revolutions mark the beatings of the heart of manifestation." ~ Helena P. Blavatsky, The Voice of Silence

That Ms. Blavatsky fabricated a hoax beyond even Ms. Cleo's abilities should not undermine the value of her quote, if interpreted with an eye toward the practice of substantive law. We who have chosen the law have knowingly and willingly (and possibly foolishly) hoisted the weight of the world on our shoulders, and submitted ourselves to an industry so difficult that its pedagogy is dedicated to fragmenting deeply held beliefs before reconstructing them on solid ground.

Because of this burden, every once in a while we should escape from the walls we have built.

Living in a suburban utopia complete with street lights every 500 feet, I seem to forget too easily how bright the full moon is with no light pollution. When I took this picture (on my iPhone, so I apologize for the lack of clarity and landscape) the mountains were lit up, every tree within a mile glowing in response to the midnight light. Escaping all signs of humanity left a calming clarity rarely found in the rush of the city.

To my readers who are law students, we (I) need to take a trip to Lake Tahoe some time this year. We are missing the opportunity to escape the responsibilities we have undertaken, even if only for two days. I hope that with our collective intelligence, we will be smart enough to take those few moment to breathe in nature, rather than the law. Those moments away should refresh us and provide us with enough rest to avoid the pitfalls of our daily grind.

As proof of the necessity for a regular escape, consider whether you secretly prefer the excitement of the following quote to the inherent drudgery in the quote above.

"Although human subtlety makes a variety of inventions by different means to the same end, it will never devise an invention more beautiful, more simple, or more direct than does nature, because in her inventions nothing is lacking, and nothing is superfluous." ~ Leonardo DaVinci

My Love...

I guarantee I will disappoint veritable romantics with my misleading header. Rest assured, you sonnet memorizing would be fawning idealists, a future post will chronicle my love life (I'm lying). For those remaining readers, this post is on my latest fascination: cocktails.

The Southern Staple

Mint Julep. Young writer looking to channel the American classics? At the bottom of your julep cup you may catch Twain reciting his recipe: "First, take the best damn bourbon you can find . . ." Despite my lapse in historical accuracy (the quote above is almost certainly apocryphal), the drink conjures images of graying men, reclined on a whitewashed porch, drinking and dozing themselves back to a simpler time. Their simpler time may have included segregation, but I am modern man hoping to glimmer understanding from a past generation's simple pleasures, regardless of their complex vices. So, pour your way back to those less stressful days. If this libation offers a means to travel back in time (it must be how Twain's Connecticut Yankee arrived in King Arthur's court!), be sure to ask the author for his actual recipe.

The Classic

Martini. Classic tuxedos, beautiful women, dangerous men and Walther PPKs come to mind. If your mental image has yet to materialize, let me offer a helping hand. Differences of opinion endure despite the drink's lengthy history, and Bond's flippant order ("Vodka martini, shaken not stirred.") breaches the two overarching debates. Gin or Vodka? Shaken or stirred? Every would-be mixologist harbors personal preferences (Vodka, not Gin. Stirred, never shaken.), but a universal understanding persists: the martini offers an easy classic for all occasions.

The Long-Dead

The Sidecar. I maintain a secret hope that the motorcycle sidecar's inherent thrill is eponymous for the danger in imbibing a few too many of these sweet drinks. My experiences at Original Joe's, an Italian restaurant reminiscent of the restaurant scene in "The Godfather," demonstrates the decline of this beverage. My order of deep fried oysters and a Sidecar caught the waiter's attention. Apparently, in my server's previous 40 years of experience, both of these orders border on extinction. While the Sidecar no longer holds a position of prominence in the cocktail world, glimmers of its influence persist (See the California Cafe's "American Sidecar.") If you want a means to show bartender your "spirited" knowledge is greater than their own, order a sidecar. Smart money says their response contains some form of "What is in that?!" Enlighten them, and enjoy.

The Two Note Favorite

The Seven and Seven. I am not going to offer a long explanation here. It is simple to make, difficult to truly enjoy, and something both men and women should feel comfortable ordering. Trust me, order this drink at your next visit to the bar. It will not disappoint.

Cocktails are the liquid variation on fine dining. If fruits equate to wine, vegetables to beer, the greatest room for expression, and thus perfection, comes through the combination and manipulation of these two subclasses to create cocktails. With these few recipes in mind, I challenge each reader (all two of you) to experience a bit of "fine dining."

Should you stumble across a recipe you find worthwhile, please share. Who knows, after a drink or two (or ten) the sonnets may flow freely.

What Scott Turow Forgot to Mention

A generation of would-be law students turned to one book for insight into their then upcoming 1L year. The memoir foretold of days consumed with interpreting frustrating inconsistencies in judicial dogma, obfuscated sources of law, and cryptic professors. These daily activities (chores?) mirrored the difficulty in surviving sectional drama, study group formation (and subsequent dissolution), and the occasional pining for the life left behind.

I stood amongst those readers, convinced I would reread Scott Turow's One L as a prediction of my experiences to come, rather than a recounting of another man's exploit. Much of those prognostications became reality; as I write this, the intricacies of Criminal Procedure and my own inability to perfectly grasp the issues gives me more than a few moments pause. Then again, a sense of calm, alien to Turow's story, keeps my feet firmly on the ground as my mind swirls.

I, gratefully (and deservedly), have an advantage to the Scott Turow of the story. I am not a "One L".

As this year's classes begin , the 1Ls seem especially ill-prepared for their current undertaking. They are all exceptionally intelligent, each having been at or near (or possessing the ability to be in, had they injected some effort into their studies) the top of their class at their respective universities. All (a caveat for engineers) have outgoing personalities. Many have advanced degrees, and "know" they can tackle these problems as they have before in alternate academic arenas. And, yet, every single one possesses none of the skills necessary to be a lawyer.

Law school, like medical school, requires a tool set unique to itself. Prior experiences, even working within the legal field, fail in preparing hopeful candidates for the rigors of obtaining a J.D. As a result, each of the 1Ls will mentally struggle in ways they could not have dreamed up even had put their best, and most conniving, effort forth. And yet, they will end this academic year more capable than when they began. I know this to be a fact because I can see such strengths in the 2Ls in my classes. (The 3Ls have the ability, but none of the drive. As they say, "Your 1L, they scare you to death. Your 2L, they work you to death. And, your 3L, they bore you to death.")

So, to the 1Ls of this year (despite not reading this) I say good luck. You will need it.

To the 2Ls, congratulations and a question: can you think of anything more satisfying than not being a 1L? I am sure Turow, the Fall of his 2L year, could not have.

Medi -a, -um, -ae, -ans?

Modern technology has developed a litany of mediae (not mediums, or so my computer tells me) to transport complex messages, elaborate dramas, and other things I cannot begin to understand.

Despite this variety, I think that one stands paramount amongst the rabble. This medium has reigned supreme across the last half century. Nixon lost an election due to this medium's persuasive power. A lone man stepped upon an other-wordly body, yet the entirety of humanity (except skeptical disbelievers) shared in Neil Armstrong's conquest from nearly 240,000 miles away.

Television trumps all.

While previous generations associate moments of political grandeur and human achievement as the spectacles with the 'ol "boob tube," in my lifetime moments of real human experience have hardly been the norm. The daily dramas, sitcoms, "reality" escapades, and stand-up comedy specials have replaced true human experience. Rarely do we receive sensationalized tidbits reminiscent of the real world -- think "I did not have sexual relations with that woman," or, unfortunately, Stewart Smalley's (Al Franken) induction into the "League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" (aka Senate) -- rather, scripted and feigned personality have become the norm.

Yet, despite dearth of unscripted life on television, we find/create connections with what we view. Three times in the my life has a melodramatic, producer driven, mega-bucks series actually affected me. First was the Joan of Arc Mini-Series that took the nation (maybe just my TV) by storm in the late 90s. How unbelievably attractive Leelee Sobieski (her parents should be shot for that name) was aside, it showed the intolerance of man. Maybe she was schizophrenic and fulfilled "God's" mission, but does such a full hearted effort warrant church driven murder? Why would people kill someone for what they believed? As a 14 year-old kid, this thought plagued me, and the story-line had me emotionally invested.

Next was the show I cite as the greatest the world has ever known: The West Wing. I am not creating a hyperlink for a reason. If you don't know, get a clue and season 1. If you do know, I hope you see where I am going. Politics in the mid-90s had devolved into a moralistic shouting match: the consciences of the Left demanded social action (or tax payments) to provide equality for all; the morals of the Right protected traditional values instilled in our Judeo-Christian culture. And yet our nation’s greatest leaders failed in developing a coherent strategy that tempered these two (apparently) opposing views. And then NBC elected President Bartlet. Here was a man who, even in his most flawed moments, strove for a reasonable answer to his citizen’s problems. If such promise could not be voted into our lives via the electoral process, at least we could satiate ourselves with a mock government in tune with the populous' expectations on public discourse.

And, finally, we come to the unassuming, unpretentious, and often mindless shows we attach ourselves to. For my money, no greater example of mind numbing entertainment exists than “Scrubs.” Zach Braff aside (a grand point to set aside indeed), the show had a quality missing in its peers. Waxing poetic and philosophical were underpinnings of J.D.’s entire being. Despite being short of “The Apology,” the show at least made jokes while following the daily experiences of an average group of individuals viewers easily related to. This show sneaks moments of clarity between a capuchin chimp banging cymbals. To top it all off, it is the show that gave us “Guy Love.” And, after eight years of watching the show, I had a hard time accepting these “lives” were over. I am not obsessed with drama, but I have learned to invest myself over time into characters I find relatable. That investment is TVs greatest asset.

Television not only speaks to us as radio does, doesn’t simply grant us a brief window into the lives of a few characters as movies do, or only leave us hanging as the greatest novels do. Television does this all. On television, stories are told as eloquently as the radio ever could, windows literally years in the making are provided, and, upon a great show’s completion (like Scrubs and The West Wing), the viewer can’t help but wonder what has become of those characters over the course of their lives. Television has the great privilege of combining all we know about human interaction and communication, and providing it to us more efficiently than any other medium.

Simply put, I am glad I live now, rather than in another age where the radio, “talkies,” town crier, bard, or paintings on a stone wall were the extent of our story telling ability.

And by the way, Neda, this one was for you. I hope studying abroad is going well.

Because People Shouldn't Be Afraid of Being "Middling"

So, here's the verdict on the Spring semester: Contracts- B, Civil Procedure- C+, Constitutional Law- B, Property- B, LARAW- C+

One rose, another declined, and the remainder set me at the middle.

Bring it on 2l.

Oh, and Steiny, I'll be seeing you in match 2, "For Damn Sure, I'm Gonna Beat Crim Procedure."

Yeah, I am done rhyming for today.