The gospel, according to law school, is that outlining prepares you for exams.  Do your own outlines. Don’t use commercial outlines or other student’s outlines.  When you’re finished outlining, you’ll be ready to rumble.  I wrote my own outlines. I’ve even squished them into little happy bundles (ranging from 6-11 pages).

And I still know nothing. The search for automatic enlightenment after outlining is like the search for a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. I can’t find it. 2Ls and 3Ls talk about how they never refer to their outlines during the exam, having absorbed their outlines while creating the darn thing. There is no way I’ll be able to write an exam without referring to my outline, except for Torts (closed book). I could talk about the Erie Doctrine in CivPro, or implied terms in Ks, or the 47 branches of causality in Torts, but not with the specificity needed for exams. I am the opposite of the thin skull rule. My thick skull is impervious to knowledge. That’s a little disconcerting. But I’m not stressed about it. I only wrote this post to say if you’re outlining and are not, as it seems every 2L and 3L in existence seems to have done, finding yourself on autopilot for writing exams, you’re not alone. If you are, congratulations, I am your downward comparison.

For those of us seemingly incapable of learning by osmosis, practice exams may help. Well, practice exams and staring at your outline like it’s the most beautiful thing on Earth. You shouldn’t start a relationship during finals, but dating your outline may be the closest thing to a friend with benefits as you’re going to get. You don’t have to wine and dine your outline, you just have to spend time with it. When your friends want to hangout, just say no, I have to see my outline tonight. If you feel like you’re outline is too needy, brush that thought aside. Spend as much time as possible with your outline until finals. You can break-up with it after finals. It will understand. Your outline knows this is just a temporary fling.

Help, I need somebody, help, not just anybody, help,
i.don’t.wear.skinny.jeans

At the start of law school, another blawger highlighted a useful piece of advice from a professor: be relentless. Torts offered similar advice the other day: “You’re all wusses. Get a little nasty and you’ll become rich.” I immediately thought of law students as Terminators, living inside The Matrix.  Terminators plodding through the mine field of exams, blasting away at every Matrix fact pattern in sight.  Instead of the hunt for John Connor, there’s the hunt for applicable doctrine.

So relentless in studying we become.

But what if, like me, you’re the lone Terminator in a field of T-1000s?  An antiquated machine surrounded by issue hunting robots who are faster and better equipped to blast issues on the battlefield?  Not only are you the lone Terminator, you’re a crappy Terminator. You may have been a lethal academic machine in your glory days, but what good does that do you now? In Kindergarten, I built an amazing house out of candy. My teacher said, “idwsj, you are an excellent candy building Terminator.” Moments later, I ate my candy house. My candy house was constructed with candy . . . and a lot of glue. My teacher sent me to the nurse.  Abiding by that sterling precedent in the years to follow left me outmoded and busted. One of my Terminator arms fell off, rendering me slower than my T-1000 brethren at blasting fact patterns. One of my once-state-of-the-art issue spotting eyes fell out of its socket due to wear and tear, leaving me incapable of seeing issues that the other robots are seeing. While there is little time for introspection on the law school battlefield, I sometimes wonder how this broken down Terminator can survive the battle when it takes me more time and more effort to do something half as successfully as the other robots.

The answer, I think, is to just keep marching. You’re in law school for a reason (though probably not to save John Connor). You do everything you can to strive towards The Reason, irrespective of your missing arm, defective eyes, and underpowered Terminator weapons.  Granted, you’ll probably get annihilated by a lot of the T-1000s. But it’s not about you and the T-1000s. It’s about you and The Reason.  No matter how many times you get knocked down, no matter how beaten up a terminator law student gets, you can always dust yourself off and say “I’ll be back.”  And just keep marching.

Left, right, left, right, left,
i.don’t.wear.skinny.jeans

Law school is a lot of work, but it’s not a trial by fire.  Law students don’t do hard labor, we just read and make pretty notes on our laptops.  Reading takes time, and making my outline pretty takes time, but so what?  I’m not lifting cement blocks all day.  I’m not getting yelled at while I’m making my pretty notes.  Granted, sitting in my apartment while progressing ever so rapidly towards nearsightedness is by no means an adrenaline rush, but it’s not stressful.  I’ll do some work, pace around my apartment for no good reason, get some food, and then come back and do more work.  Besides, one day, I may be able to go up to a girl at a bar and try this dandy line out: “Would you like to go get dinner sometime?  Maybe we can watch my CivPro outline.  It’s got this gorgeous section on Personal Jurisdiction and if you watch patiently enough, you can see an Erie Doctrine once in a while.”   The girl will say yes, we will have The Date of A Lifetime, and Law School will be worth it.

I do wish, however, that I had more time to get to know New York.  Embedded in law school is this persistent push to look forwards without taking stock of where you are.  It is a practical push, though.  You can’t afford to sit idle for too long, lest you ignorantly get run over by exams.  But that doesn’t mean idling happily is not important.  From my glimpses of The City, I’ve peeked an exciting place teeming with unusually friendly people; a place with things to do at all times.  Most of the time, I’m scurrying from class to class, or from class to my apartment to do some reading, leaving me without an opportunity to longingly gaze at everything New York has to offer.  Mostly, my only indulgence is that putrid waft of the sewers that occasionally dances under your nose when you walk around the streets.  But even that is exciting.  Sometimes.

After December 17th, when NYU 1Ls emerge from their last final exam groggily, with dark circles under their eyes, wearing sweatpants and hoodies, cringing at the sunlight, there will be time to do all of this.  There will be some celebrating, some job hunting, some exploring of the city, and some sleeping.  But most of all, there will, at long last, be time to take a step back and think, “damn, when does next semester start?”

Yearning for an apple scented scratch and sniff outline,
i.don’t.wear.skinny.jeans

Exams are coming. Memos are due. Practice exams need to be taken. PILC work need to be done. Outlines need to be retooled. Briefing needs to stop. Resumés need to be prepared. Sleep needs to be had. Breakdowns need to be avoided.

Somewhere in that mix, panic settles in. Panic from exam anxiety, or a concern that you won’t be able to get everything done, or that you’re in over your head, or from looking at what other people are doing, or anything that hits that magic red button, it seems. One week ago, I had law school under control. One week ago, I couldn’t see why students would go crazy during finals. Now I see. Law school bombards you with assignments, increased reading loads, and obligatory tasks for job hunting at a time when you want to focus on outlining and taking practice exams. It is not unfair or excessively burdensome, but it can be overwhelming at a glimpse.

My brother told me two things when I BlackBerry Messenger’ed him about the law school frenzy: focus on what you need to do, not what other people are doing, and start scheduling yourself, because schedules induce zen-like calmness. If you’re worried that other students have study groups, schedule a date you want to have a study group by. If you’re worried that other students are taking practice exams, schedule practice exams into your calendar. If you’re concerned that you’re packing on the pounds at an unprecedented rate, schedule a date to . . . No. I draw the line at food in times of stress. You may not ever get an A, but you can always eat a delicious meal. Law students, ask not what your fellow law students are doing, but what you can do to take your mind off what your fellow law students are doing.

Now, I’ve penciled practice exams into my calendar. Now, I have an exam study group. Although my studying has lacked the glitz of Hollywood, I remain optimistic that The Study Group will be just like the movies. We will huddle around a table, taking our practice exams. Midway through the exam, the floor will be littered with scrunched up balls of paper, even though we’re typing on our laptops. Midway through the exam, we will all be chewing on Twizzlers. Midway through the exam, we will all look up, feel inspired (possibly by the background theme music that has begun playing), and then type furiously until the end of the exam. At the end of the exam, we’ll all be wearing glasses, chewing on pencils in our mouths, and be discussing the finer points of the law. Because that is what study groups do.

Are we there yet?
i.don’t.wear.skinny.jeans

Once upon a time, NYU had an orientation week for overeager 1Ls.  En masse, green 1Ls were warned about the pitfalls of blawging. In the middle of this cautionary tale, i don’t wear skinny jeans was given an implicit shout out when the topic moved to reasons behind mandatory fun and blawgers who playfully poked the mandatory fun bear. When the topic shifted to revoking scholarships from students for blawg content, I cringed (though I have no scholarship to lose). I immediately stormed through my archives to hunt for hazardous content.

Although my posts read like they are written by an infant who grabbed the nearest crayon and started scribbling in a journal, I censor posts. Given the indiscretion with which I write, you may wonder what I’m censoring (who knows!).  But I write this blawg under a sheer sheet of anonymity and try not to write posts that I’d be mortified of having tied to my name. Whether I’ve managed that is unclear (If you think any of my posts cross The Line, please let me know). The point of this digression is that the person who gave this speech of woe on blawging will be my professor for Constitutional Law next semester.

As mentioned before, 1Ls at NYU take Lawyering, Administrative and Regulatory State, Criminal Law, and one elective in their second semester of law school. At NYU, you bid on elective classes and leave it to statistical magic to decide which course you get enrolled in. I bid on Constitutional Law, Property, and Corporations. I was excited when I found out I got Constitutional Law for my elective.  Then I realized ConLaw probably frowns on my blawg and pictured this exchange:

ConLaw: idw, I mean, Student X, what do you think about this case?
idwsj: *yelp*
ConLaw: Don’t even think about blawging about this.

But I’m still looking forward to this class.

When You Say Nothing At All
*in a shocking turn of events, a girl approaches idwsj*
Cute Girl E: Hey, you look really familiar! I’ve seen you before, I think, but I don’t know where.
idwsj: I think I’ve seen you before as well. Did you go to School Z?
Cute Girl E: Yes! Maybe we had a class together.
idwsj: Yeah . . . umm . . . so . . .*how am I this smooth?*

True Love
Yesterday, I saw two kids (who were probably around 5-8 years old) walking down the street. Mid-step, the boy tries to hold hands with the girl. The girl, without breaking step, brushes the boy’s hand aside and picks up the pace. The boy, disappointed, scampers after the girl. My heart sank.

I met my first True Love when I was in 1st grade. I remember precious little about my life in 1st grade, but I remember The Field Trip. For some reason, our class took a field trip to a farm. I guess taking kids to farms to see cows and play with hay builds character. When we got there, I found myself marching up the path to The Farm side by side with The Girl. Emboldened by the smell of manure, I decided to make my move. I asked The Girl if she wanted to hold hands. She said yes. We held hands for the entire trip. It was the best day of my 1st grade life.

Unfortunately, the relationship was short-lived. The next day, I decided to throw erasers at The Girl to express my affection which she, strangely enough, did not take kindly to. We broke-up. I wasn’t too disappointed because I figured sooner or later, we’d have to break-up anyway because of cooties. Few things in life are absolute deal breakers with your True Love, but cooties is one of them when you’re in 1st grade.

With a full heart,
i.don’t.wear.skinny.jeans

Soapbox Time.
The longer I’m in law school, the more self-obsessed I become. I’m turning into that guy that walks by the mental mirror and can’t stop looking at himself. When friends ask me about law school, I vacillate between measured answers like “it’s interesting, but a lot of work” and an outpouring of embarrassing stories, stresses, and worries that ends only when I’m done venting. Somehow, I’ve come to think that my work and my problems are the only things that matter in life. I was on the phone with one of my best friends yesterday and only at the end of the conversation did I realize that I hadn’t asked my friend about her life, her new job, or anything about her life.  This happens whenever someone calls or messages me to find out how life is going. What happened? I don’t care how busy you are or think you are, there is no justification for being this self-centered.

Sometimes, you end up in a “conversation” with each person talking past the other person. You might as well be talking to yourself. You might as well be blawging.
Person 1: I have so much reading to do, I have to start outlining, I have to write this memo…
Person 2: I need to get three cases read by tomorrow, start my research project, and then…

I’m putting a permanent ban on indulging myself when I talk to people in law school or outside of law school. Simultaneous soliloquies are not the hallmark of humanity. Maybe I’m old fashioned, but if you’re talking to someone, you should talk to that person.  That’s the last you’ll hear about this.

Off the soapbox, onto outlining.
I began with an outline for each course. I moved to two outlines: a full and a short outline. I’ve since deleted my full outline and have moved to a short outline and, low and behold, an even shorter outline: a table of contents. By the time Thanksgiving arrives, my outlines will be reduced to three commas and a period. Outlining is like interior decorating. The theme is minimalism. When, at long last, you’ve reduced your outline home to maximum minimalism, your only option is to move what’s left of the furniture around. Don’t like that unsightly Promissory Estoppel next to your Consideration Coffee Table? Move it next to the Restitution Rug. Perhaps you prefer Negligence Per Se in your entry hallway of Breach, rather than buried in the recreation room. I don’t know how your outlining home looks, but mine could sure use some sunlight.

Bug Those Alums!
Back in the top law school days, I would aimlessly read about what was important to look for in a law school. I read numerous threads about how alumni networks were or were not important. I don’t know how integral alumni networks at NYU will be in looking for a job, but NYU harps on it enough to make you take notice.  Do you want a job at the Department of Justice in Area X?  Find an NYU alum that works there and start chatting.  Do you want experience litigating, writing memos, and researching?  Find an NYU alum that practices in your area of interest, contact them, and get networking.  The idea of disturbing the peace contacting alums has been impressed on me to the point that if I’m craving a cheeseburger, I wonder if I should look up an NYU alum who knows where to get good cheeseburgers.

For someone who came to law school with a cart blanche list of networking contacts, the droves of NYU alum working in every corner of the world provide a great resource for annoying keeners future lawyers looking for information about potential career avenues.  But we’re all different with how comfortable we are reaching out to strangers with an open palm and a thinly veiled pretense. I prefer not to reach out to strangers unless I have a legitimate interest in an organization other than “because I need a job.” That may have to change, but hopefully only as a last resort.

Hip hop hooray,
i.don’t.wear.skinny.jeans

I asked for it.  Before law school when I was naively brimming with hope and happiness (now I am skeptically brimming with hope and happiness), I yearned for drama, gossip, and all the fascinating delight that was absent in my life.  When I got to law school, I was disappointed when 1Ls maintained the status quotient of the everyday people.  I didn’t wait long enough. The Gossip Mill is officially in overdrive, perhaps precipitated by Fall Ball.

What is it about law school that makes gossip and rumor such divine currency? In past lives before law school, 0Ls were normal people, normal people who perhaps occasionally participated in Water Cooler Chatter. But 0Ls were unlikely mired in gossip. The commencement of law school seems to unleash an unquenchable thirst for juicy gossip, or, for carnivores, an insatiable hunger for meaty rumors (pick your preferred food metaphor). This desire for all things Other People’s Business is twinned with a propensity to make egregious decisions, myself not excepted. The fiery crucible of law school seems to collectively diminish our ability to make sound choices. Or, more likely, we were never cable of doing so, and law school simply bares our missteps for the world to see.

I cast no aspersions at the drivers of The Gossip Mill, nor at those who provide fodder for it.  It’s not like we’re burning down memorials.  I am, however, enthralled by how efficient the whole process is. Two people depart from a party together and moments later, everyone knows about it. Student Z does something one night and by sunrise, people who don’t know Student Z know everything Student Z did. I don’t know many people in my section, but at the same time, I know everything about everybody in my section. I don’t indulge what I hear these days, but it is remarkable how ubiquitous the gossip is.

Of people I don’t know (hypothetically):
Student A dislikes Students B-Z.
Student B likes Student C who likes Student D.
Student E likes Student D as well.
Student X asked out Student Q . . . to roller derby.
Student L and Student H are secretly dating. Or maybe just hooking up.
Student R has three fingers.
Student F is getting frisky with Student E, G, L, and R.

I don’t care if rumors like these (again, all hypothetical) are or are not true, my classmates can do whatever they want – it’s none of my business. But the fact that I don’t know these people (the people I know are interesting enough!), try to avoid getting muddled up in their admittedly entertaining lives, and still hear all this information says something about the quirky world of law school.  Is it the mounting anxiety from exams?  Maybe it’s swine flu, which has invaded NYU (who seem ill prepared to handle the invasion).  Some people in my section purportedly have or had swine flu. Whoever those people are, I hope you feel better soon.

Another day, another step closer to finals,
i.don’t.wear.skinny.jeans

Finals are bearing down on us and some may begin to tear their hair out.  Naturally, I’m concerned about finals-induced-baldness.

But yesterday, randomly in the middle of class:
Classmate X: You have a nice shaped head. When you go bald, you’ll be ok.

Happily, I can now lose hair without consequence.  Phew!

With the oncoming freight train of Finals approaching, practice exams seems like the only way to brace for impact.  But when are students supposed to start practicing?  We haven’t finished classes yet, but if we wait until we’ve covered all the material, we’ll only have a couple days to practice before finals.

idwsj: It’s a beautiful day. Do you want to take practice exams together?
Student X: Why are you taking practice exams already?
Student Y: You haven’t started taking practice exams yet?

Up until now, I’ve avoided study groups.  But exams are loaded with issues.  If you’re practicing exams under time pressure (and even if you’re not), you’ll miss a lot of issues.  Having a study group to discuss practice exams with after can help everyone discover missed issues.  Now, I just need an exam study group.  Someone?  Anyone?

Getting there together, one question at a time,
i.don’t.wear.skinny.jeans

When all through the halls, law students were chomping to get their feet stomping.  And this is how it happened.

Class finishes at 4:00 PM on Thursday.  I burst out of the classroom, only to pause at the Halloween decorations that have begun going up around Vanderbilt Hall.  NYU is not wasting any time in turning The Law School into The Fall Ball (8:00 PM).  But there is no time to dawdle – I race home to finish my reading for CivPro, the only class on the docket for Friday.  Compared to the looming party, the shiny appeal of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure  is dulled.  I read about amending pleadings and mentally plead with CivPro to let me go and get ready for Halloween.

I clean up, get dressed, and head out the door to join the pre-Fall Ball celebrations.  After racing around the streets in full costume for 2 minutes, I realize how impractical Halloween costumes are in warm temperatures.  I’m standing on the subway, sweating more than a healthy person should, when a girl starts staring at me like I’m having a heart attack.  I assure her I’m not dying.  I try to explain that my excessive wardrobe and seeming heat stroke are all because of  Halloween, except it’s not Halloween.  It’s Thursday, October 29th.  She continues to stare at me like I’m insane.

I arrive at a friend’s house to put the finishing touches on our costumes.  We head out the door, gather up some other 1Ls, and join pre-Fall Ball (7:00 PM).  1Ls in an assortment of colorful costumes bounce around the room on the joy of pre-Fall Ball.  After what seems like an eternity of celebrating, everyone thinks it’s 12:00 AM.  We look at our watches and it’s 8:30 PM.  With that, everyone shuffles out the door and heads over to The Fall Ball.

Once inside The Fall Ball, I am, once again, amazed at the lengths that NYU has taken to turn The Law School into a home for teetotal, well-mannered, and high-minded fun.  The furniture has been rearranged so that Greenberg Lounge, a room where 1Ls listen to debates by leading scholars and town hall meetings, contains nothing but beer serving bar staff and a dance floor.  1Ls and beyond are dancing around the room for a hazy period of time when the music eventually shuts off.  The students stumble and bumble upstairs to continue the merriment.

Upstairs, there is tarot card reading, food, karaoke, and all sorts of other things.  It’s bizarre seeing Vanderbit Hall in Halloween garb.  Cameras are flashing and students are drinking what can only be water out of red cups.  Fall Ball is reputed to be the last joyful touchstone before finals where students make new friends with some and become more than friends with others.  But I won’t delve into details of The Good Clean Fun that was had, only because The Fall Ball seems to operate under The Vegas Holding: what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

But I won’t leave the slate completely bare – some innocuous events did not go unremembered.  Inspired by another 1L blawger, I talked to Random Girl X and proceeded to have this conversation:

idwsj: What time did you get here? Are you having fun?
Random Girl X: *says something*
*2 minutes later*
idwsj: So . . . are you having fun?
*Random Girl X looks at idwsj oddly*
Random Girl X: *says something*
*2 minutes later*
idwsj: So . . . are you having fun?
*Random Girl X ponders if idwsj has brain damage, then laughs*

Eventually, The Fall Ball formally comes to a close.  It feels like 3:00 AM.  I look at my watch and it’s only midnight.  I spend some time outside with someone from class.  It’s strange that you can see people in class everyday, but not really know them only because you don’t sit next to each other.  But maybe that’s why there’s Fall Ball.  Later, I get some food with a friend before falling asleep.

The next morning, I am shocked at how little evidence there is of last night’s party.  NYU eviscerated every trace of The Fall Ball.  By sunrise, Vanderbilt Hall had returned to Law School form.  In class, we try to understand a world after Twombly and Iqbal, cases that have muddied the crystal waters of notice pleading. Having lost my mental faculties during Fall Ball, everything CivPro says sounds like Latin.

But CivPro, Torts, and Ks are starting to make sense – I finally see how the doctrinal jigsaw fits together.  At the same time, I’m increasingly aware how little relation there is to understanding the material and doing well on an exam. But that is neither here nor there.

In search of daylight savings,
i.don’t.wear.skinny.jeans

Every now and then, you stumble across a case that reminds you just how funny law is.  Frigaliment Importing Co. v. B.N.S. International Sales Corp. is such a case. I will say nothing other than it opens with this seminal remark: “The issue is, what is chicken?” – Judge Friendly.

I feel like chicken tonight,
i.don’t.wear.skinny.jeans