Sh*t my law professors say

Over the semester, I was quick to jot down little "isms" that my professors said in class.  My intention was to type them all up as a memento of my first year of law school.  I thought it would also be fun to share them with the blogosphere.  Some of the quotes won't make sense unless you endured six months with these professors, but some are funny on their own.  They are divided by class for easy reading.  Enjoy.

Property

On sharing a mug with a classmate:  "I don't have cooties.  You have cooties...(under his breath) This is really stupid."

On Newt Gingrich and the Doles sharing property:  "Gingrich is going to make a great president."  "Why shouldn't Gingrich get 1/3 and Elizabeth Dole get 2/3?  She's more rational anyway.  Historically."

On a classmate refusing to give his hypothetical wife any property after divorce:  "That may be that you're kind of a volatile-type personality."

On my criminal law professor hitting my contracts professor over property:  "Neither of them have arms that would be considered deadly weapons."

On landlord-tenant relationships:  "This is a little confusing...maybe simple."

On electricity as property:  "We, our bodies, work on electricity.  Our brain's like fire!"

On buying landlocked property:  "If you buy landlocked land, people are going to laugh at you."

On beaches in New York:  "It's not a very nice beach because it's in Queens, New York, and the water is cold and the people are mean."

On homeowner's associations:  "If someone wants to have chickens and collect their own eggs, or they just like the noise, you may want to be careful."

On just about anything:  "Yeah, no, you're exactly right, right?"

Criminal Law

On forcible rape:  "Is it forcible, or are they just a little kinky?"

On Charlie Sheen:  "He is quite persuasive."  "Charlie Sheen can't make you burn in hell, but supposedly God can."

On Stephen Morse:  "Mainly I put up the picture so you could see his mustache.  It's awesome."

Classmate on retributive justice:  "If someone tried to kill me, I would probably kill them."

On attempted murder:  "Maybe I just wanted to scare the bejeezis out of you.  Is that a word?"

On the res ipsa loquiter test of attempt:  "I remember this because we were on a basketball team when I was a student and we were all under 5'6".  We called ourselves 'Res Ipsa Loquiter' because it was pretty clear that we all sucked."

On attempt:  "You stink as a criminal."

On attempting to kill someone with a water gun:  "Dammit, why won't it kill you?!"

On conspiracy to rob Taco Bell:  "We want to inflict damage on Taco Bell in exchange for all the damage it has inflicted on us."

On conspiracy:  "It begins with a C.  I don't mean to be a wise-ass.  I'm sorry."

On a classmate's case analysis:  "What might be a more common sense answer to the case?  I'm sorry I didn't mean 'sense.'"

On a cocaine hypothetical:  "Students are usually very reluctant to talk with me about where I can get my cocaine."

Contracts

On our class not learning about fraud in torts:  "That strikes me as reasonably awkward."

On Masterson v. Sine:  "That's immensely stupid."

On being frustrated about selling his house:  "If I'm feisty, I apologize in advance."

On Ruttenberg:  "Does it strike you as lame?"

On troubles with a car dealership:  "I bought a different kind of car because they t'd me off."

On working in big city law firms:  "In my course of dealing with other lawyers, there are lots of lawyers who are just lame."

On defendants ignoring specific performance:  "No, go away, I want to play golf or whatever."

On being evaluated by a fellow professor:  "I'm not designed to be a performer, I guess."

On drafting specific contractual provisions:  "That's, like, really tedious or whatever."

On purposely creating ambiguous contracts:  "Now you're going to decide I'm evil or whatever."

On St. Patrick's Day:  "Two questions with one answer.  It's like a McDonald's Shamrock shake.  It's half off."

On forfeiture:  "Courts find that distasteful, distressful or whatever."

On a 1L's perception of law school:  "Tell me how all the pieces move, and then I will be a lawyer."

On explaining substantial performance:  "You're looking at me like I'm a martian or whatever."

On drafting a prenuptial agreement:  "I would think that has to be awkward."

On swearing he saw a raised hand:  "I'm hallucinating."

On ESPN opinion:  "Let me show you what is patently, unquestionably wrong."

On explaining why the ESPN opinion is wrong:  "I'm getting lots of, like, quizzical looks or whatever."

On asking if we understand a 1920s case:  "I'm not trying to be cute or whatever."

On being a lawyer:  "If you don't want to get bitten, get out of the water."

On the belief that it's okay not to like the law:  "Like Mom making you come in when you're a tike or whatever."

On the college campus becoming smoke-free:  "It's like we're a totalitarian state.  It bothers me."

On understanding that there is no duty to mitigate damages:  "We are at the peak, the summit, the matterhorn.  I do not want to move an iota in our understanding, or else we'll fall off a cliff."

On why he cites everything:  "You don't need to type this.  This is just to show you I'm not making this up."

On the possibility that Kim Kardashian and Paris Hilton made money by mistake:  "An observation came to mind that shouldn't be shared or whatever, so we'll just leave it at that."

On the MedicAlert company trying to screw him:  "That still frosts my whiskers."

On mistake versus frustration of purpose:  "Now we're all frustrated with my discussion...Oh, man, you're not even going to laugh at that?"

On mortgages:  "It's also a mortgage in aircrafts if I do recall.  I am 92% certain."

On the difference between an obligor and an obligee:  "And I guess the problem is I'm somewhat dyslexic, which makes this really bad for all involved."

On assignments:  "What do I mean by that?  Well, I don't know."

On cases involving electricity: "They don't want anyone to get zapped or whatever."

On transfers versus mergers:  "Maybe that sounds too glib or whatever."

On third party beneficiary risks:  "Might be foolish.  Might not.  Depends on if he's a good gambler or not."

On third party beneficiary hypothetical:  "Let's say I have lots of money, unfortunately a hypothetical."

On wanting to write a challenging exam:  "Maybe you think I'm foolish or whatever."

On writing the exam:  "Maybe I'll be so enamored by the exam that I'll tell you all about it, and I'll have to strike it and start all over again."

On ending classes a week early:  "Maybe I'll just end class then.  I can't do that.  I'll get fired if I do that."

How do you spell "W-I-N-N-E-R"?

     To begin, no, the title of this post isn't a Charlie Sheen reference.

     I have shied away from the blogosphere as of late, not because I have nothing to talk about, but because there has been so much going on in my life that I haven't had the time to record it here.  On my day off, I decided it was finally time to put down my thoughts on paper...or let them go into cyberspace.

     One of the reasons I started this blog was because I needed something to do to get away from law school.  I needed an outlet to vent about contracts, complain about my fellow students, and dream of other things I could be doing instead of writing case briefs or studying for finals.  Over the last few months, my life and my outlook on life have changed dramatically.  

     For starters, I am not spending my summer working in a law firm or interning at the state capitol, like so many of my fellow law compatriots.  Instead, I found my way to community theatre after a three year acting hiatus, and I couldn't be happier.  I am playing Marcy Park in "The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee."  For those of you who are unfamiliar with the show, this musical takes the audience into the world of competitive spelling, breaking down the traditional fourth wall and bringing four audience members on stage each performance to compete alongside six cast members who are determined to become the next spelling champ.  Each of the cast spellers is a quirky kiddo who doesn't feel like he or she fits in anywhere else, and has found a place to belong during the tough pre-pubescent period of life.
     Marcy is no exception to the odd conglomerate of characters, but she is certainly different than her fellow spellers.  Marcy is the new girl, a recent transfer from Virginia.  However, she is also easily the best speller in the line-up.  She won her own bee back in Virginia the previous year and placed ninth at Nationals in Washington, D.C., an achievement last year's Putnam County spelling champ, Chip Tolentino, only dreams about.  Not only is Marcy a champion wordsmith, but she is also an over achiever in just about every area of her life.  She won her school's handwriting competition, skipped fourth and fifth grades, speaks six languages, and is an all-American hockey player.  There doesn't seem to be much of anything that Miss Marcy Park can't do, except lose.
     But is that really all there is to life?  Winning?
     I've really enjoyed finding the answer to this question during my journey with Marcy.  Although I was never a spelling bee champion myself, I've found that Marcy and I have a lot in common.  From elementary school all the way through my senior year of college, many "Marcy" moments come to mind.  I remember never wanting to tell anyone my grades as a kid because ridicule came to those who not only received the lowest scores, but who received the highest scores as well.  I resented my achievements and was sometimes embarrassed by being called "the best."  When my fifth grade middle school award ceremony rolled around at the end of the school year, I told my mom not to come because I wasn't going to win anything anyway.  Turns out, I walked away with a stack of brightly colored certificates written in calligraphy that stood nearly as tall as I did.  "Top Social Studies Student."  "Top Math Student."  "Best Artist."  The next year was much of the same.  The teachers even decided to give me a plaque because I had the top grade in all four core classes:  math, social studies, language arts, and science.  I was a winner across the board.  Along with that plaque, though, came a curse.  From then on, I was expected not simply to do well, but to win.  My 12-year-old self accepted the challenge.  Instead of taking art, theatre, and choir, classes that reflected my interests, I took the "hard classes," like physics, AP biology and chemistry.  I even took anatomy as an independent study just so I could have that extra weighted "A" credit to boost my GPA.  (My anatomy teacher thought I took the class because I wanted to go to med school.)  At the end of it all, I graduated high school as valedictorian, editor-in-chief of the yearbook, student body secretary, co-captain of the dance team, and "most likely to succeed."  My peers in college gave me the same superlative four years later.
     Marcy Park is very much the same.  Everything she does, she does well.  No, everything she does, she does better than anyone else.  The other kids at the spelling bee are impressed and slightly afraid of her ability to do everything so effortlessly and her maturity that is well beyond her 12 years.  She is no-nonsense, all business.  She's not at the bee to make friends; she is at the bee to add one more trophy to her collection, one more accolade to her resume.  And she is easily upset by those who do not give her credit where credit is due.
     I was first drawn to Marcy as a character because of her surface characteristics.  A girl who does everything right who reminds me of myself - perfect type-casting, right?  I was thrilled to receive the role, but after two months of rehearsals and now a weekend of performances, I have realized just how much more there is to Marcy Park, and she has given me more than I ever thought she could.
     First, Marcy is the only character whose parents are never mentioned in the course of the show.  I actually didn't pick up on this until about two weeks ago when the cast was talking about what they imagined the characters' backstories could be.  Because Marcy's parents are never mentioned, I imagine they don't play a significant role in her life.  They are not her cheerleaders, her encouragers, or her advisors.  They are her taxi-drivers who get her to school, soccer practice, spelling bees and back home again.  This is something I am all too familiar with.  I've realized when you do things well, your parents come to expect you never to fail.  I've had several moments of jealousy when my friends receive the kind of nurturing and attention from their parents that I never got from my own.  Care packages, good luck phone calls before finals, follow-up phone calls after finals, an extra $20 or nice meal during breaks from college were all things that eluded me.  My parents don't think I need those things because they expect me to do well without them.  They don't empathize when I am nervous about a final, and they aren't surprised when I end up doing a lot better than I thought I would.  So I get Marcy in that way, too.  Because she didn't seem to need her parents early on in life, they don't think she needs them now.  I imagine she does.
     Second, Marcy wants to be like the "normal kids."  This facet of Marcy's personality really started to come through when we began running through the show from start to finish.  All of the other kids, although far from normal, are just that - kids.  They mess with each other's hair, pick their noses, give wet willies, and build relationships throughout the show.  While sitting on the risers of our set with the other five actors, I found myself wanting to join the fun, but I couldn't.  Marcy doesn't act that way.  Marcy is too mature for that.  But then I got to thinking, "Is she really?  I'm 23 years old, and I want to give a wet willie just as much as anyone else here.  Why wouldn't she feel the same way?"  I think Marcy really wants to be "in the moment" with her fellow spellers, but she knows that she's expected to set herself apart.  In the end, though, I think she realizes just how much she misses out on by being "all business."  I have felt the same way in various stages of my life.  One time in particular was when I was in Washington, D.C. for a semester.  While my roommates were out exploring the DC night life, I stayed home, in my room, crying and wishing I was at home.  My convictions told me I needed to set an example and fulfill my Christian lifestyle when everyone else was partying, but now I know I also missed out on building relationships with some very bright people who are really going somewhere today.  Now, whenever the cast goes out after rehearsal or a show, I go out too, without question.  I may be tired the next day and may have to work a little harder at the gym after eating fried appetizers, but the relationships I am building with my fellow cast members make it more than worthwhile.  I feel closer to them than I feel to people I've gone to law school with for a year, and I know it's because I made the effort to put myself out there.
     Finally, Marcy resents winning.  Or at least she resents the conventional view of winning.  Marcy has spent her entire life (of 12 years, but still her life) as a winner.  She is the best at everything because that's what she does, not necessarily because that's what she wants to do.  I'm not quite sure what it is that Marcy really wants out of life, but I'm certain that it is not to be a spelling bee champion forever.  She wants to have fun, she wants to live her own life, not the life others expect her to live.  This characteristic of Marcy is the one with which I most identify, and the one that led me to this show in the first place.  Now that I have spent the last two months in the eccentric world of theatre and away from the straight-laced legal environment, I have no doubts concerning the atmosphere in which I belong.  It's not a courtroom.  It's a stage.  And I already have my next audition lined up to make sure our last "Bee" curtain call isn't my last.
     So Marcy has shown me that I don't have to be the best law student, make the most money, or fulfill the conventional title of "most likely to succeed" in order to be a "winner."  I simply need to be happy.  And right now, as far as I'm concerned, I'm carrying the biggest trophy I've ever seen.

The Bane of My Existence

Contracts is the bane of my existence.  After some research, i.e. Googling "bane of my existence," I found that to say something is the bane of your existence means said thing is killing you because "bane" literally means "slayer" or "killing."  In other words, Contracts is the slayer of my existence.  My research revealed that the saying used to carry a very heavy connotation, but now it is common in English vernacular and has since lost its serious meaning.  Perhaps that is this Google Answers scholar's opinion, but I think the phrase can still be very real, as I definitely feel farthest from life when sitting in class discussing whether a court should order specific performance, an injunction, or expectation damages when the amount of the plaintiff's lost profits is nearly incalculable.

I have about nine pages left of this case.  I choose not to read the rest for three reasons: (1) I'm exhausted after a five-mile run and a long day of classes, (2) I'm at the point where I'm just reading words on a page and will most likely have to go back and reread the case tomorrow morning anyway, and (3) I couldn't care less about what happens to these people.  This isn't an issue of whether Harry Potter lives or dies, or whether Bella chooses Edward or Jacob; therefore, I am not emotionally invested in this story.

That's your nugget of lawyerly terminology for the day, and a bonus useless fact about "bane of my existence."  Both are free.  You're welcome.  Moving on.

The other day, a friend of mine from undergrad told me about this book called "The Element."  She described "The Element" as where your passion and what you're good at meet.  She wants to be a teacher, and her eyes light up every time she talks about her experiences in the classroom as a student teacher and as an observer.  She reads books about education all the time, and I know that the kids who walk into her classroom over the next several years are going to remember her for the rest of their lives.  Clearly she has found her element.  As she was telling me about this book, I realized that I am definitely not in my element.

Am a good at law school?  Yes.  Am I good at chemistry?  Yes, but I didn't go to med school for a reason.  Can't do blood.  So again, am I good at law school?  Yes.  Do I like reading cases and doing meaningless paperwork and wearing suits and sitting at a desk all day long?  I would like to answer this question with an emphatic "NO!"  According to the logic skills I have acquired in my legal research class and according to the twin goals of "The Element," I probably shouldn't be doing this law school thing.  Sure it looked great (and fashionable) when Elle Woods was doing it, but I've come to the conclusion that I'd rather have Reese Witherspoon's job than her character's in Legally Blonde.

As I sit in class every day, I can't get over these people sitting on either side of me who eat this stuff up.  They ask question after question and apply for every job and internship that shows up in our inboxes from career services.  Recently my classmates have been having interviews with their respective firms, so there have been a lot of people dressing up, implicitly sending the message, "I have an interview.  I'll be working at a law firm this summer while you'll be lucky to get hired on at Starbucks."  Also recently the weather has taken a turn for the better, and I've been able to dig my dresses out of the back of my closet.  Every time I don a new dress, the classic inquiry is, "Who are you interviewing with today?"  My response is always the same, "No one, it's just a great day outside."  And then I go on about my business as they stand still, baffled and bewildered.

At first I felt a little insecure about my lack of interviews for summer jobs.  I'm used to being the one who has the interviews, who gets the jobs, who succeeds, you know?  But then I had to take a step back and say, "You don't WANT these interviews!  Why do you care if other people are interviewing in their shirts and ties while you're slumming it in a hoodie?  You would rather do anything but work for a law firm this summer."  And then I feel a bit sorry for the poor schmucks as they file into their interviews or crowd into a classroom for a networking event.  (Networking events are a completely different topic that I could write a book on by themselves, so I'll stay away from them today.  Let's just say I think it's brainless to have events in which people meet one another for the sole purpose of using the other person to climb the career ladder, almost parasitic.  Networking should happen organically, not over forced conversation and mediocre finger foods.)

But I also understand something else about my classmates.  They are in law school because they want to be attorneys.  Novel concept, right?  Maybe that's why they enjoy (or at least tolerate) reading cases.  Maybe that's why they ask questions.  Maybe that's why they want jobs this summer.  Ah ha!  An epiphanic moment.  You can high five me through the screen if you like.  I expect to see a handprint on my monitor next time I log on.  It makes sense now.  They like law school because they care, because they are invested, because some day they are going to do this stuff for a living.  As for me, if I never set foot in the lawbrary again, never opened a case book, never wrote a memo again, I would die a happy woman.  That's saying something.  That's saying something huge.

To close, it seems I've identified the bane of my existence, what's slowly killing my spirit from inside the brick, dreary, lifeless lawbrary walls.  Now my task is to discover my element.  A trip to Barnes & Noble is in order.

The best possible worst-case scenario

Last time I left you with the worst-case scenario of what my next entry would be about - failure.  Well, ladies and gentlemen, today I will be talking to you about failure.  However, after some serious reflection, I hardly think it was the worst-case scenario.

I'm not saying last weekend's audition experience was by any means the best-case scenario, but it was definitely good for a lot of reasons.  

First, I was reminded of what it's like to audition for a play.  I felt the nerves and shivers that comes from anxiously waiting (in a frigid theater) for that one shot to show the directors that (1) you know the material, (2) you know how to deliver the material, and (3) you can deliver their material.  I remembered what it feels like to utter lines to yourself over and over again until you either forget them because the words have lost all meaning or you know them so well that they become second nature.  With the end of one sentence automatically comes the beginning of the next.  Thankfully for me, I experienced the latter during the actual audition, although I had my fair share of forgetfulness in the hours immediately preceding the moment I took the stage.  I delivered both my monologues flawlessly, and I felt great about my performance.

Second, I was reminded that I need to teach myself how to read music.  I've dabbled in musical instruments, took piano lessons, and played the clarinet for three years, but all of those skills are long gone now, and I couldn't read a piece of music if my life depended on it.  I've always been able to get by just by listening.  I know I can't keep doing that, especially in an audition.  I immediately tensed up as I heard the opening notes to my music selection, and, well, let's just say I'm glad Simon Cowell wasn't judging my singing ability at that moment.  I probably would never have opened my mouth again if he had.  Bottom line, though, it took guts for me to take the stage and sing my little 45-second ditty.  I have guts.

Third, I was reminded how much I love to dance.  I was a dancer in high school, but never had much in the way of formal training beyond a couple of years while I was 5 or 6.  I just decided my freshman year of high school that I didn't want to be a cheerleader anymore, so I'd dance instead.  And that's what I did.  For four years I only counted up to 8, wore glittery costumes and bright red lipstick, and taught myself any of the technical elements I needed.  It's been five years since I've laced up my dance shoes, and I don't own any proper apparel for "real" dance anymore.  I was optimistic, though, and decided just to wing it.

The second I walked into the dance audition, I felt completely inadequate.  All the girls had dance shoes.  All of them.  What did I have?  $10 tennis shoes from Old Navy.  Most of them had leotards.  What did I have?  Some spandex I bought in England and an old sorority T-shirt.  All of their lips were coated in red lipstick.  What did I have?  Clear cinnamint lipgloss.  So my first instinct is, "Shit.  I'm screwed."  I walked into the bathroom to change and decided to wear the spandex but to keep my shirt on that I wore to the first auditions earlier in the day.  It passed as something someone would wear to dance in, and looked a lot better than a T-shirt.  Then, by the grace of God, I found my only tube of obnoxious red lipgloss in my purse.  Crisis #2 averted.  But I still had an issue with my shoes.  I walked into the audition room and began stretching, still wearing my tennis shoes.  I scoped out the room, praying that someone would be wearing something other than ballet shoes or character shoes - to no avail.  But I did see some girls with no shoes at all (Granted, all of these girls put on shoes later, but that's beside the point.).  I thought to myself, "I can either wear these ridiculous shoes and be self-conscious the whole time I dance, or I can take them off and take this thing on barefoot."  I went for the second option, kicked of the tennies, and began learning the dance combination.  This leads me to the fourth thing I learned last weekend.  I still got it.

It became evident that even though I haven't danced in years and I didn't have the shoes I should have, I can still break it down on the dance floor (or at least learn movements that correspond with 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8).  When it was my turn to perform, I showed them my absolute best, and I know that I did well.  The feeling I had as I walked off the dance floor was the best feeling I've had in years.  It gave me the chills.

At the end of the night, call-backs were posted, and I had to endure the anxiety of searching for my name on the list of the chosen few.  I searched.  And searched.  And searched one more time - praying I'd overlooked it.  I hadn't.  It wasn't there to find.  I walked away with my shoulders slumped, my enthusiasm gone, and my eyes filled to the brink with tears.  I don't like to cry when things don't go my way.  I don't like to wallow in self-pity.  But that night, after my name was nowhere to be found, I cried. And I cried.  And I cried.  I cried because I was disappointed in myself.  I cried because I could have done better, could have tired harder, could have done something different.  But then I cried for a completely different reason altogether.  I cried because I had just had the best day in years, and the day was over.  There weren't going to be more days like that in my immediate future.  No rehearsals, no lines to learn, no dances to perform, no curtain calls...  Instead?  Casebooks, briefs, motions for summary judgment, the Lawbrary.  I cried because I finally, finally had a chance to surround myself with what I really love, and I lost it.  I cried because I had to go back to something I'm not interested in, something I'm not passionate about.  I cried because the feelings I felt that day aren't going to come back anytime soon.

This is beginning to sound like it would be the worst-case scenario.  But it's really not, I promise.  My weekend shed some light - a lot of light - on my life and what I want to do with it.  I'm going to keep reading these cases, keep pretending to be interested, keep doing the work, but I'm also going to keep auditioning, keep singing, keep dancing, keep holding onto that feeling I had last weekend - and to the dream I've had all my life.

Maybe it's not that I'm aimless, per se.  I have a destination.  Now I just need a map.  

I Don't Want Pie

I'm sitting in the lawbrary with my Property book glaring me in the face saying, "If you don't read me today, you have to take me home, and I'm really heavy."  I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.  Instead I'm going to talk to you.  Shouldn't you feel special?  I'm sacrificing my lumbar health for your reading pleasure.  Yes, you should feel special.  One more thing to add to your "Why I'm happy it's Friday" list.

Ok, down to business.

A couple of weeks ago, I spent some time with a friend from undergrad who has always inspired me.  I spent her first year as a college student listening to her cry about mean sorority girls, waking her up when she fell asleep studying in the hall at 3 a.m., and taking in too many calories with her drinking Mocha Frappes at the campus coffee shop.  She's wrapping up her junior year now, and instead of being her mentor, I now find myself being mentored.  She has a wonderful way of making you feel like the most important person in the world, and she has a joy that emanates to a 50-mile radius.  Anyway, while I was hanging out in her dorm room, I noticed a list taped to her desk.  I asked her what it was, and she said it was a list of 21 things she wanted to do while she was 21.  She was currently trying to find something to replace "Get scuba certified" because she knew it would be too expensive to get scuba certified, go skydiving AND ride in a hot air balloon.  College kids' budgets just can't handle that much adventure.

Her list really got me thinking, and I thought to myself, "I just turned 23.  I should have a list."  So I've begun my list of 23 things I'm going to do while I'm 23.  I have about 13-14 right now, as I'm seriously contemplating my year-long bucket list, so to speak.  I thought having (and checking off) goals on such a list would bring a little more "aim" to my life and help me figure out what truly makes me happy.  One of the top goals is to run a half-marathon.  I ran my first "long run" today of six miles, and I have to say that six hours later the endorphins are still pumping.  We'll see if they can last through my Civil Procedure class.  The scope and limitations of discovery might kill them all, but I'm optimistic (maybe because of all the endorphins).  But that's not what this is about...

This is:  Another goal I have that I didn't put on my list because I had already decided to do this before the whole list thing is to audition for a play.  I didn't put it on my list because I feel like that's a cheap freebie, like writing "Brush teeth" on a check off to-do list.  You're going to brush your teeth anyway, so you shouldn't get any kind of satisfaction from crossing that one off.  (If you're one of those folks to whom brushing your teeth is a big deal, maybe you should get off the computer and grab some Colgate.)  All of that to say:  Tomorrow I'm auditioning for three shows.  I've picked my monologues and my song, took my headshots, sent in my application, and now I just have to convince the directors that (a) I have talent and (b) I'm cute.  As long as my hair straightener works tomorrow and I don't break out overnight, I'd say I've got (b) covered.  We'll see how (a) goes tomorrow.

Now you may be wondering, "Why is a law student auditioning for a play?"  Good question.  It may make more sense if I tell you that I was originally a theatre major in college.  I grew up a little actress, constantly dressing up, quoting movies, and being as dramatic as possible.  And I was good, too.  So why did I give it up?  Stability.  I wanted a job where I knew I would make money and not waste my intellect and potential waiting tables and going to auditions in anticipation of my "big break."  I'm far too logical to take that risk.  The cost-benefit analysis speaks for itself.  But now, after hours of being sedentary every day as I read case after case and line after line of information I'm not remotely interested in, taking a shot at acting doesn't seem so bad.  In fact, it sounds like the best idea.  A professor of mine once said, "Graduating from law school is like winning a pie-eating contest where the prize is more pie."  I don't want pie.  I won't take pie.  

So tomorrow I'm rejecting the pie and going for what I really want to do, what I really love.  I may fall flat on my face (literally; there's a dance audition), but I am putting myself out there, and that is what matters.  I have no expectations, but I also have no doubt that this is the right thing to do.

I may regret writing this post as it requires I follow up on the events of tomorrow, and there's a 50/50 chance that I'll be writing about failure, something I fear and despise more than anything.  But right now, that's a chance I'm willing to take.

"Poor" and "Aimless" defined

Since graduating from college, I have learned several very important lessons:  Ramen noodles should not be part of any food pyramid approved in the past, present or future, naps were never a waste of time, and the relationships and memories I made are more important than any lecture I sat through in my four years as an undergraduate.  Perhaps the most unexpected nugget of truth I acquired, though, is this:  College gives you the tools to do whatever you want to do, but it doesn't choose for you what it is you are going to do.

I imagine my college experience being this magnificent airplane tour of the world, where I see all of these beautiful places out the window and can't wait to land, so I can explore the terrain.  Except instead of making a smooth landing, I have to jump out of the back door and hope, first, that my parachute opens and, second, that I have what I need to survive wherever it is I find myself once I am on two feet again.

Thankfully for me, the parachute did open, and I have begun a post-graduate career as a law student (thus the "poor" in the title of my blog).  However, I am not one of the power-hungry, networking-obsessed, casebook-engrossed students you see living in the lawbrary 24 hours a day.  No, I'm the one militantly resisting the gloomy room full of books no one has touched since the creation of Westlaw and LexisNexis databases and the one who responds to the question, "What kind of law do you want to practice?" with the unheard of answer, "I don't want to practice law."  That's right.  I don't want to practice law.  You can pick your chin up from your keyboard now.  You're getting drool on it.

Now, I suppose you understand the "aimless" portion in my blog title.

Most of the time, after people hear my answer, they immediately ask why I am in law school if I don't want to be a lawyer, and so far I have yet to come up with a satisfying answer.  The truth of the matter is I never wanted to be a lawyer, but I always found law fascinating, so I came to law school to learn.  I didn't come to compete or be ranked or raise my hand more than everyone else in the class.  I came to learn for learning's sake, and I suppose I will continue to do so until I either succumb to becoming a lawyer or find something less aimless to do with my time.

I have already considered some options, and they will follow, but I don't want to purge myself of all my good ideas so early on, so I will leave you in suspense for now.  This is simply an introduction to my blog, a speed-date of sorts for all those who peruse the blogosphere.  There will be stories of my aimless wanderings, law school anecdotes, and a fair amount of cynicism.

But I vow never to refer to Snooki, Pauly D, or The Situation (other than right now), so that in itself is promising, right?