Blast from the Past

It's hard to find time to post lately. So I thought that between original posts I would occasionally add vintage posts from my previous blog, which is no longer publicly available. I realize that, if you read the previous blog, that is really boring and a total cop-out that does nothing to alleviate the lack-of-posting issue. I'm really sorry about that and stuff. But I will do it anyway. First of all, there's stuff from the old blog that I don't want to leave languishing in password-protected oblivion. Second, I will never unlock the entirety of the old blog. Third...there is no third point.

And with that thrilling introduction, I bring to you the first new old post. I wrote it on my bar trip almost a year ago, something I've been thinking about a lot lately, what with it being all really fun and whatnot and what with this current September offering up such comparative thrills as a trip to the dentist.

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Death by Donkey
Originally posted Sept. 5, 2006

We're at sea today, but yesterday we were in the Greek island of Santorini. The island is basically a big old mountain, and the towns are built at the very tippy-top.

And of course the boat leaves you at the very bitty-bottom. So how to get up there, you ask? You could ride up on the cable car. And you could walk it (I don't recommend it, for reasons to follow).

Or you could ride up on a donkey. Doesn't that sound like fun? Who doesn't love a donkey? Nobody, that's who, because everybody loves donkeys.

I love a donkey too, so naturally I chose the donkey. So I got up to the donkey-giving guy, paid, and then suddenly I was hoisted in the air and tossed onto a donkey. "You go!" the man yelled, and the donkey, well, he went.

And that's when it became clear that I'd been given the demon donkey. My brother went cantoring by, waving cheerily and hooting, "Look how well he obeys me!" My sister-in-law wielded her camera in one hand and her bag in the other, snapping pictures as she glided up the mountain.

Me? I held on for dear life, screaming, "I don't wanna diiiiiiiie!"

My donkey didn't care. He went where he wanted to go. He galloped at breakneck speed. He crashed repeatedly into the cliff face, crushing my leg in the process. He rammed other donkeys, and then tried to bulldoze them to the side (leaving my poor defenseless legs right in the line of fire of the other donkeys' hindquarters).

He had a particular yen for the other hapless tourists making their way down the mountain. He headed right for them at top speed. Oh, the poor souls, how they tried to avoid him, stepping this way and that, but my donkey was far more nimble than they. He'd draw nearer, hot breath like the flames of hell washing over them, and they'd press themselves desperately against the cliff wall. Their eyes would grow wide with horror.

And the screams, oh God the screams, they haunt me when I try to sleep. "Nein! Bitte nein!" or "Non! Mon Dieu, non!" or any of a handful of other languages that I do not speak, but the meaning was clear enough: terrified denial at that which could not be avoided.

Somehow, miraculously, I survived and so did the tourists. The cruelest thing would have to be the way that, with (what felt like) miles to go to the top, the donkeys stopped, and the donkey-handling dude came up behind me, grabbed me, and yanked me unceremoniously off the donkey. "Done!" he yelled. "You go now!"

Sheesh, I went. And just about died climbing up the rest of the mountain. I have grave, grave concerns regarding my ability to climb Mount Vesuvius tomorrow. If I do not return...remember me.

Taking the Suckiness Out of Law School

My brother is staring down his first day of law school. I've given him all of my old outlines, and, if he wants them, he can have all of my old bar studying materials (I never did sell them back because sooner or later "they" will tell me it was all a mistake and I'll have to take it again). Other than that, I find myself oddly helpless.

What is there to say, really? "Good luck"? "If it sucks, that's normal"? "I will understand if it turns out not to have been the right choice for you"? (Some days that last one hits awfully close to home.) Just because something is true doesn't make it the right thing to say.

My brother has always enjoyed school and learning in general, and he particularly enjoyed it at higher education levels. I think he gets excited about it – he actually wants to know about things like, say civil procedure, as opposed to someone like me who viewed most classes as purely a means to an end. My hope is that he'll find law school satisfying, and that his more laidback nature will prevent the type of daily anxiety attacks that plagued my first semester. Maybe he'll be one of those people who really loves law school. Weirdos.

I do think there's about a fifty percent chance of him being a gunner. Sigh.

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So, what would you tell a person about to embark on that neverending carousel of delights that is law school?

I guess I will just say that it's normal and right if it feels like nothing makes sense. A lot of the time you won't quite get the full picture until shortly before finals (at least, one hopes you will get it by then ;), and as awful as that feels that first Thanksgiving, I wish I had fully understood just how common that was.

I did everything wrong that first semester – everything people advised us not to do – and I waited way too long to study for finals and I didn't outline during the semester and I remember this one day near the beginning I sat there trying to read for class and it was getting dark outside and then the electricity went out and I was drinking a can of cream soda and it felt like the whole world was so dreary and black and to this day the thought of that thick cloying soda coating my tongue makes me feel ill. I felt out of control and stupid and slightly insane, like the mental equivalent of reeling drunkenness, and I stayed up all night before finals too.

And gosh, I did well in law school. If I could figure out why I would write the definitive book on it and make tons of money and that would be awesome and ironic, in that being good at law school would be the thing that freed me from actually practicing law. Alas, I can't figure it out. Maybe it's that I had great outlines, mostly thanks to other people, but as long as I could bring those suckers in to the final, I knew I could find the law that I needed (especially since I extensively indexed them). And I was really really good at blabbing on and on forever, though I am sure you would NEVER have expected that. In law school they call that "applying the law to the facts," and they love it. I call it B.S.ing, but whatever.

So apparently that is the key to law school. And all of the reading for class and knowing all the answers when called on (which I did NOT – I was a blathering idiot, among the worst there were) and panic and fear and bragging and posturing and one-upmanship are ultimately irrelevant.

Or not. Everybody I talk to seems to have a different take.

Why They'll Never Let Me Telecommute

I had car issues today – AGAIN – and ended up borrowing a car just long enough to run into the office to pick up some work to do from home while waiting for the repairs to be completed.

Which is a great idea, except that by the time I started actually working it was after lunchtime. And then I was just so, so sleepy. And my bed looked so, so nice.

A nap made PERFECT sense.

But it's not nearly as much fun right now, as I enter billable hour number 4 for the day and the clock ticks ever closer to 10....

Worst. Movie. Ever.

I saw an early preview of Hatchet because I'm special that way. I had never heard of that movie before, but apparently it is all the rage at film festivals and all the cool people love it.

I think the theory is that you go to the preview, and then you tell all your friends how totally awesome the movie is, and then the movie comes out and they all see it and good times are had and money is made. But, like evolution and gravity, the theory simply doesn't hold up.

I feel compelled to use my powers of movie previewdom to warn all of you, my friends, to stay away from this movie. Do not waste your time. Do not waste your money. In fact, I want my money back...and I got in for free.

No redeeming value. Stupid story. Terrible acting. A horror movie utterly lacking in horror. It doesn't even have kitsch value. It was just BAD. I can't even describe it as torture porn...more like "gore porn." Which served as a great counterpoint to all the real porn, which is unabashedly featured throughout, in the grand Shakespearean tradition, as a movie within the movie. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

For the first time in my life, I was ready to walk out – and after the first three minutes, to boot. Quite a feat. Except I couldn't because I had to pay my bill for the food, and the service was rotten and I didn't even get my bill until half an hour after the movie ended, and when it came there were three margaritas on the bill that I had not received, though it's true that I had ordered one, and then repeatedly reminded the server of that fact when it did not appear, to no avail in terms of my own personal margarita consumption, though clearly the orders were noted for the purposes of bill padding. Maybe a margarita or twenty would have have made the movie go down easier, or at least it would have placed me in enough of a stupor that I could float along mindlessly until permitted, mercifully, to leave.

Bah humbug.

Slice of Flight

At airport just in time to catch flight, having rushed out of big family extravaganza for grandma's 97th birthday at restaurant before dessert was served (said dessert having being included in big family extravaganza, and hence already paid for).

Display says flight delayed 20 minutes. Outside, the sun is shining in a clear blue sky.

Departure time comes and goes. Display remains the same. No announcements.

Hours pass.

Announcement says delay because flight attendants are flying in from distant city. Current airport is nationwide hub for this airline. Three-quarters of airline's employees live in current city.

Flight attendants arrive. Board plane.

Plane pulls away from gate.

And sits. And sits. And sits. Announcement says we are 20th to take off.

Sky grows dark. Thunder rumbles.

Engines on plane suddenly cut off. Silence deafening.

Announcement says airport shut down. Big storm. No one flying out. "Too bad about this weather delay."

Great news. Movie to be shown. Such a treat. No movie scheduled for flight.

Need headphones. No headphones in seat. Flight attendants hand out extras. Run out on previous row. Flight attendant laughs and vigorously waves empty hands, so as to indicate the idiocy of individuals who inquire as to the whereabouts of additional headphones. Hands empty, no more headphones. Duh.

Movie starts. Problem with sound? Tell flight attendants.

Ding ding ding ding ding. Call lights up the aisle. Call lights down the aisle. Headphone connections don't work.

Ha ha.

Headphones turned in; can't listen anyway.

I get headphones. I watch movie. It is Shrek 3. It sucks.

Think am lucky to be alive today.

Does "Venting" Count as Billable Time?

This lawyering business is exhausting. I'm done. Like, for the year.

It hasn't been a good week. It hasn't been a good month.

It caught me off guard...my job is what it is, and I had settled into what I felt was a good routine. I was billing eight hours a day, which placed me nicely at the monthly target (allowing for some lost hours here and there). It seemed like I was handling it.

And then...I don't know what happened. Maybe extra work came in, or maybe the people at work decided I wasn't pulling my weight. (Some signs indicate the latter may be true, but I find it unfortunate. As anyone who has ever honestly billed time understands, for every 0.8th of an hour billed, there's generally another 0.2 that disappears...and that's IF you are actually really diligent and not chit-chatting with coworkers or surfing the Internet or making a Starbucks run. In other words, I work pretty damn hard to get eight hours a day.)

I'm inclined to attribute things to the "extra work" factor. This is all well and good, but I am only human. When you bring in a new client who tells you their previous counsel billed 50 hours a week on the work, and the work is split between you and one other person – you know, 'cuz you're the only associates who actually do that kind of work – and, hello, I was already billing eight hours a day before that...well, where the heck is the extra 25 hours a week supposed to come from? Do the math.

It ultimately means that I've been staying up until 2, 3 in the morning working.

And as much as I hate that – as much as this is avowedly and most vehemently precisely the life I didn't want to have – y'know, I could deal with it if I thought it was just temporary. As in, well, there's a ton of work now but maybe next week it will be easier. But it won't. Unless we start to lose clients because we are incapable of giving them the attention they demand, this is the new norm.

Or I could handle it if they said, hey, now that we have so much extra work (and the extra 25 per week is far from the only new thing), maybe it's time to bring lucky #3 on board. So far, however, the resistance to this option has been remarkable. The best I've heard is, well, maybe we'll interview someone for this position in the fall, and maybe they'll come be a summer associate with us, and maybe they'll get an offer, and maybe they'll choose our firm and not the other firm they split with, oh, and maybe they'll choose our section over the other section they clerk with inside the firm, and if that's the case, well, awesome, they'll start in fall 2009...oh, ha ha, that's assuming they don't get a (strongly encouraged) clerkship, which would push it to 2010, unless of course they do a two-year clerkship, and then it would be 2011.

People. At this rate, I will not be there in 2011.

I can only hope that something, somewhere gives. I don't know what I would do otherwise. It seems like the in-house jobs don't materialize until, what, year 3? Year 5? Or I could go to a different firm, where I would be served a nice heaping helping of exactly the same. Options in my field are limited – and damn it, on balance I would rather practice this type of law than any other (just not, heh, in place of little things like "eating" and "sleeping").

Well. There's also option 3. I bought a lottery ticket today.

(Needless to say, this post isn't long for this world.)