I forgot to mention that Krave was last week! And you know Broby took pictures:
I am typing this with a hot, rice-filled sock pressed against my face.
I was sick for most of the week, but this morning I woke up with my eye almost swollen shut. I was convinced that my face was rotting, so I made a desperate call to the school optometrist.
The receptionist said she could “work me in” around 3pm, so my work-day got off to a very late start. I walked the krakens around Calhoun and then spent the rest of the afternoon creating beats in Ableton. The Calhoun walk was pretty, if not a little hot.
Ableton arrived! I had to fetch it from the FedEx facility in the far-flug northern suburbs, but it’s here.
That is why I am a firm believer in the vogue phrase: “I don’t like that bitch, I don’t see her.”
I’m busy, there’s so little time, and I have dog poop to pick up.
That is why I have a hard time getting excited about the whole “gay rights” debate. The saga is ridiculous to me because I cannot understand why “opponents” of gay rights/marriage even care if two men or women get married and raise children.
I spent the morning at the Uptown Dunn Brothers my nose in my Ableton manual. I ordered Ableton last week, but it ships from from Berlin so I run the demo version on my school laptop.
When I came back to the apartment this afternoon to find a FexEx sticker on the front door of the building. Apparently Ableton arrived! The mailboxes for my apartment are tiny, so tomorrow includes an adventure to find the St. Paul FedEx facility…which might be a disaster…
After the dog walk, I jump in my car and try to head to school, but my neighborhood is gridlocked. There are no left hand turn signals to the highway onramp, and there is a fender-bender at the intersection I need to turn at.
So I cut someone off, bypass my regular on ramp, and decide to go through downtown… except the traffic is at a standstill at the next light as well because there is ANOTHER fender-bender at my left-hand turn lane.
As a crusty rising 3L, I don’t blog about school much anymore. Law school lost its new car smell about a year ago. The pedals stick, and the engine leaks.
But I remember how useful law student blogs were to me during the summer before law school, so I feel obligated to throw some unsolicited advice out into the interweb. Grab your salt, and guard your loins.
And don’t worry. I’ll be concise. Here are 5 points:
Now, when I tell an accepted law student to read Philalawyer’s letter, I get the same response: “Oh, well, gee, that sounds TERRIBLE! But well, it’ll be different for me.”
I have three things to say to that:
Just like joining the military is preferable to say, doing meth, law school is also not a terrible mistake for most people. It may be a waste of three years of your life and a lot of money, but again, it’s not meth. You’ll be fine. Maybe.
So, for those of you soldiering on,
If you only read one thing, then read “First Impressions: What You Don’t Know About How Others See You” by Ann Demarais and Valerie White.
The most jarring thing about law school is the amount of unchecked douchebaggery going around. It’s absolutely shocking and needs to stop.
I am pretty sure that classroom etiquette sessions are part of my school’s orientation schedule next year, but the vast majority if schools don’t offer these sessions, so it is your duty not to be “that student” during orientation.
Also visit student blogs and go through the archives. Law student blogs are best orientation you can get.
Some of the classic law student blogs include: But No Thanks, Butterflyfish, and New Kid on the Hallway. But check the rest of the blogs linked on the left side of the page, and those linked at Evan Schaeffer’s Legal Underground.
A reader pointed out that I got lax on my boomkat lists. Sorry. The playlist is here:
After being ignored at the Big Box music section for 20 minutes, I skipped over to the Guitar Center next door.
Their lives are so hard. Sigh.
My optometrists are at the Mall of America Lenscrafters. I love them. They are competent and the assistants are hilarious. But the downside of going to the mall for contacts is passing this place:
Club O-Zone was the only club within walking distance of the University of Miami during my freshman year. The club was in a semi-abandoned strip mall, right next to the Florida Department of Family Services, and yes, it was absolutely hilarious.
The university bought the strip mall, flipped it, and now a pack of luxury apartment buildings sits where I created some of the best memories of freshman and sophomore year. Good thing I took pictures.
The picture quality on this blog has gone down since I bought a blackberry. The blackberry camera is convenient, but I realized how inadequate it was when I tried to take shots at the Townhouse:
Although the blurriness captures the excitement of the night, I would have preferred clearer shots.
More pictures after the jump.
I discussed some of my dating prospects with Jill, a coworker, and then asked Jill if she had her eye on anyone. A law student maybe?
Matt and I are at the Saloon. I see a Hispanic guy wearing a thin white button down with a gaudy silver pattern on the back. He also has a “female” friend who made me instantly homesick for Miami – flat ironed hair, tight tank top, fake breasts, scandalously short skirt, and dangerous stilettos.
I couldn’t resist.
Me: “Oh gurl, you’re beautiful!”
Yamile: “Why thank you!”
Me: “I’m from Miami. You’re taking me back right now.”
Yamile: “Oh my god! We are from Miami!”
Physical Evidence is my only course. It is 2 ½ hours long, twice a week, and is all presentations from guest speakers.
Our first presenter was an expert on polygraph tests. The theme was that polygraphs don’t work and have no scientific foundation. And apparently polygraph testers purposefully ask embarrassing questions, like “Do you masturbate in front of a mirror?”
And yes, that was the actual example that the expert used. The expert’s theory was that virtually all men have masturbated in front of a mirror. And apparently the one guy who hasn’t is in trouble:
Expert: “If you haven’t then you’ll fail the polygraph test. You want to have masturbated in front of the biggest mirror you could find. And hopefully you feel really crummy about it! So if you haven’t masturbated in front of a mirror you’re screwed!”
It is 3am. Our group is outside of Pizza Luce in downtown Minneapolis, and an oversized bouncer is frisking us for weapons.
The bouncer pats us down, lifts our pant legs, asks for IDs, and then tells us the cover is $4. “Cover” is probably not the right word. It was applied to our pizza, so it was more like a down payment. I still thought all of this was a bit odd for a pizzeria, until I got inside…
After getting searched and charged, we stroll inside and experience the ghettofabulous scene: there were pimp suits, neon mesh leggings, candy colored stilettos, sweated-out weaves, grills, jelly rolls, folds, muffins, and zebras…. It was glorious.
We got our pizza and somehow made it to the Hotel Minneapolis without getting mugged. And although there are better pictures, I think this blurry shot best depicts the zombie-like fashion in which the guys attacked with pizza:
It’s 7am and pouring. Both dogs are glaring at me like “You’re a bad owner. Can I go out now or is that spot on the carpet calling my name?”
So I take them out, knowing that the “why am I wet?” attitude is coming.
We run outside. Both dogs look at me like, “WHY IS IT RAINING? MAKE IT STOP!”
Well, great.
