It was recently suggested to me that since I am looking for non-legal jobs, I might need a cover letter that better explains how my skills and education translate over to the business world. Here is what I came up with:
Dear Sir or Madam,
I am interested in a [Blank] position with your company. I have a Juris Doctorate from [Redacted] and a Bachelors in Finance from the [Redacted]. My previous work experience and education make me a perfect candidate to help use best practices to make industry-specific critical business decisions that will propel the organization into the 21st century and beyond.
In my previous work experience, I excelled at facilitating the company’s vision and core values into shifting paradigms. I worked with cross-functional teams to help foster client relationships while maintaining a high level of professionalism and efficiency. I am not afraid to roll up my sleeves and push the envelope when it comes to making face to face presentations to industry movers and shakers. When you combine this experience with my educational background, you get a dynamic, proactive, results driven team player who is not afraid to think outside the box in order to add value to the bottom line.
I am eager to leverage my experience into a position where I can use tactical solutions and synergize emerging technologies into a proven business plan while getting onto the fast track to upper management, and this is just that position. I am always willing to push the envelope and refocus my energies to best live up to the mission statement. I am ready to apply my knowledge base and go the extra mile for your company. Please touch base with me at your earliest convenience so we can make a game plan to discuss all of the buzzwords I just used.
Sincerely,
Mike
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Job Search Post #2
A few weeks ago I interviewed for a job which I wasn't qualified for. Actually, I am overqualified for the job, but according to the company, they want somebody with industry experience, which I don't have. But they granted me the interview for a reason, which I assume was either a) they wanted to see if I could convince them that I was right for the job despite my lack of experience, or b) clerical error.
Usually in interviews, I can tell how well I am doing. I have had interviews where I knew all along that I was nailing it and that I would get the job, and I have had interviews where the conversation was more awkward than the waiting room at Planned Parenthood. But this interview was different than any other I have ever had.
First we talked about my background and how it would translate over, and he seemed genuinely impressed and interested. I started feeling more confident about it, when all of the sudden he started talking about the ideal candidate for the job, and it was clear I wasn’t close to what he was looking for. My newfound confidence was rattled, so I started trying to steer the conversation back to how my background would translate over to this job. The interview ended on an upswing, with him seeming interested in me again, and getting the assurance I would hear from him soon.
It was like going on a date and having the girl tell me how great I am and how much she likes me, then in the next breath talking about a guy from work who she likes, then getting short kiss, and having her seductively tell me “I can’t wait to do this again!”
Friday, after almost two weeks, I hadn’t heard back, so I gave him a call. He seemed kind of startled to hear from me. “Oh…hey Mike…Well, I regret to inform you that you weren’t selected for a second interview.”
“Okay….had you planned on ever contacting me and letting me know, or did you just hope I forgot about it?”
“Honestly, I just forgot about you, so I guess I hadn’t planned on contacting you again.”
I got legitimately pissed. “Oh, that’s real professional,” I told him, and hung up.
Then it slowly dawned on me, “I just called someone else unprofessional. What is happening to me?!?!"
Usually in interviews, I can tell how well I am doing. I have had interviews where I knew all along that I was nailing it and that I would get the job, and I have had interviews where the conversation was more awkward than the waiting room at Planned Parenthood. But this interview was different than any other I have ever had.
First we talked about my background and how it would translate over, and he seemed genuinely impressed and interested. I started feeling more confident about it, when all of the sudden he started talking about the ideal candidate for the job, and it was clear I wasn’t close to what he was looking for. My newfound confidence was rattled, so I started trying to steer the conversation back to how my background would translate over to this job. The interview ended on an upswing, with him seeming interested in me again, and getting the assurance I would hear from him soon.
It was like going on a date and having the girl tell me how great I am and how much she likes me, then in the next breath talking about a guy from work who she likes, then getting short kiss, and having her seductively tell me “I can’t wait to do this again!”
Friday, after almost two weeks, I hadn’t heard back, so I gave him a call. He seemed kind of startled to hear from me. “Oh…hey Mike…Well, I regret to inform you that you weren’t selected for a second interview.”
“Okay….had you planned on ever contacting me and letting me know, or did you just hope I forgot about it?”
“Honestly, I just forgot about you, so I guess I hadn’t planned on contacting you again.”
I got legitimately pissed. “Oh, that’s real professional,” I told him, and hung up.
Then it slowly dawned on me, “I just called someone else unprofessional. What is happening to me?!?!"
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Welcome to Law School
In the last week, I have been inundated with IMs from 1Ls who are about to start or just recently started law school. Typically, the 1L is seeking some sort of advice (which I am happy to provide) or some kind of reassurance (which I probably will not). But mostly, they want to know about my first days of law school. Why, I’m not sure. Perhaps they want to draw some parallel; “If only my experience is better than his, maybe I have a chance.”
I realized early on that law school just wasn’t for me. Remembering my early days of law school took some prodding. I repressed those memories, putting them in the same place that I put those ugly childhood memories of being teased and picked on. I trudged through my year first and a half unhappy with myself and my decision. This blog, started during my 2nd year is the equivalent to when I grew 6 inches and gained 40 pounds between 7th and 8th grade and went from picked on by bullies to protector of nerds. That slightly depressing allegory aside, here are my memories from the early days:
First, let me say that I was really, really naïve about law school before I started. I knew next to nothing about it, so I went in with an open mind. In hindsight, this was probably a mistake. Since I didn’t really know about the downsides, when I faced those downsides for the first time, it was that much more of a let down.
One thing stands out about the first day of class: it was the longest day of my life. I had four classes scheduled over five hours, but I felt like I was there for much longer. The time just crept by. Part of it was the expectations; I didn’t know what the next class would bring, so it seemed slower. But part of it was just how boring law school classes are. I recall equating it to the time I decided to take a manual labor job during a summer in high school. I had never done such work before, and when I did, I realized then and there why people go to college. That eight hour shift was the slowest eight hours of my life. I resisted looking at the clock for as long as I could, and when I did, I expected it to be close to lunch time. In reality I had been there a little over an hour. Needless to say, I didn’t go back the next day. That was sort of how my first day of school felt, only I returned the next day. I am still debating the merits of that decision.
One more memory: During orientation I went to the assignment board to check what I had to read for the first day. All of my classes had an assignment, except for torts. My torts prof had posted an assignment, but it was assigned to section 2. I was in section 1. Never mind that section 2 didn’t have him for torts, and that I was fully aware of that fact. Never mind that my classmates seemed to make the connection and realize his error. I looked at it and thought, “Cool! One less assignment to read this weekend!”
I got to school Monday, and people were talking about the torts case. I asked what case they meant, and they told me. I said, “But we didn’t have an assignment.” They all vehemently disagreed and pointed to the pages. I then realized, much later than the rest of them, that our torts professor had simply made a mistake. But no worries, I thought. If I was called on, I would simply explain the mistake and he’d move on. Right?
I know you are expecting me to tell you that he called on me, laughed at my excuse and ripped me a new one. But that didn’t happen. The nice thing about being in a section of 95 people is that you only have a slightly greater than 1% chance of being called on. And the odds were in my favor that day. However, nothing better illustrates my transition from naïve 1L to slacking 2L to jaded 3L better than this: My first year, I made the honest mistake of misunderstanding what was assigned and had the honest belief that the professor would understand. As a 2L, I would have seen that mistake and used it to my advantage by not reading and then pointing out the mistake to my professor and claiming ignorance if called upon. And as a 3L, I wouldn’t have bothered checking the assignment board to begin with, let alone read for the class. So incoming 1Ls, that is what you have to look forward to. Best of luck. If you need me, I’m here. It's the least I can do.
I realized early on that law school just wasn’t for me. Remembering my early days of law school took some prodding. I repressed those memories, putting them in the same place that I put those ugly childhood memories of being teased and picked on. I trudged through my year first and a half unhappy with myself and my decision. This blog, started during my 2nd year is the equivalent to when I grew 6 inches and gained 40 pounds between 7th and 8th grade and went from picked on by bullies to protector of nerds. That slightly depressing allegory aside, here are my memories from the early days:
First, let me say that I was really, really naïve about law school before I started. I knew next to nothing about it, so I went in with an open mind. In hindsight, this was probably a mistake. Since I didn’t really know about the downsides, when I faced those downsides for the first time, it was that much more of a let down.
One thing stands out about the first day of class: it was the longest day of my life. I had four classes scheduled over five hours, but I felt like I was there for much longer. The time just crept by. Part of it was the expectations; I didn’t know what the next class would bring, so it seemed slower. But part of it was just how boring law school classes are. I recall equating it to the time I decided to take a manual labor job during a summer in high school. I had never done such work before, and when I did, I realized then and there why people go to college. That eight hour shift was the slowest eight hours of my life. I resisted looking at the clock for as long as I could, and when I did, I expected it to be close to lunch time. In reality I had been there a little over an hour. Needless to say, I didn’t go back the next day. That was sort of how my first day of school felt, only I returned the next day. I am still debating the merits of that decision.
One more memory: During orientation I went to the assignment board to check what I had to read for the first day. All of my classes had an assignment, except for torts. My torts prof had posted an assignment, but it was assigned to section 2. I was in section 1. Never mind that section 2 didn’t have him for torts, and that I was fully aware of that fact. Never mind that my classmates seemed to make the connection and realize his error. I looked at it and thought, “Cool! One less assignment to read this weekend!”
I got to school Monday, and people were talking about the torts case. I asked what case they meant, and they told me. I said, “But we didn’t have an assignment.” They all vehemently disagreed and pointed to the pages. I then realized, much later than the rest of them, that our torts professor had simply made a mistake. But no worries, I thought. If I was called on, I would simply explain the mistake and he’d move on. Right?
I know you are expecting me to tell you that he called on me, laughed at my excuse and ripped me a new one. But that didn’t happen. The nice thing about being in a section of 95 people is that you only have a slightly greater than 1% chance of being called on. And the odds were in my favor that day. However, nothing better illustrates my transition from naïve 1L to slacking 2L to jaded 3L better than this: My first year, I made the honest mistake of misunderstanding what was assigned and had the honest belief that the professor would understand. As a 2L, I would have seen that mistake and used it to my advantage by not reading and then pointing out the mistake to my professor and claiming ignorance if called upon. And as a 3L, I wouldn’t have bothered checking the assignment board to begin with, let alone read for the class. So incoming 1Ls, that is what you have to look forward to. Best of luck. If you need me, I’m here. It's the least I can do.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Job Search Post #1
About a month ago, after taking the two months after the end of school off to sleep late, watch TV, and be generally unproductive, I started looking for a job. Now, I sleep late, watch TV, and spend a couple of hours or so each day doing “job search related activities,” whatever that means, which by definition is productive.
The job hunt is a slow process and I am an impatient person; needless to say, we don’t get along very well. However, my patience is on par with a special ed teacher compared to my mother’s, who was incredulous that I didn’t have a corner office and cushy salary after a week of scattering my resume around town. To say that my mom has a vested interest in my job search is an understatement. She is, by nature, a worrier. She worries about everything, and her latest worry is that I won’t find a job. Ever. And that I’ll have to move back home like some Italian mama’s boy and live with her. And she’ll have to support me while I wear track suits and fall in with some local toughs.
All of these worries come despite the fact that I now am a proud owner of a Juris Doctorate to go along with my undergrad degree in finance, an actual useful major that is desired by employers; that I have good interpersonal and communication skills and do great in interviews; and most importantly, that I really do want to find a job.
It should come as no surprise then, that several weeks ago when I had a job interview, she called to wish me luck, we had the following exchange.
“Did you wear a suit?”
“No, flip flops and shorts, and a polo shirt.”
“You better be joking.” Her tone was ominous and devoid of humor. Naturally, I further prodded her.
“Well my polo is tucked in…” She was about to go off, but I stopped her before she could start. “Of course I wore a suit, lighten up.”
“Good. I never know with you. What color shirt?”
“It’s like a dark blue with white stripes, and a solid tie.”
“WHAT?!?!?! YOU CAN’T WEAR A STRIPED SHIRT TO AN INTERVIEW! IT HAS TO BE WHITE OR LIGHT BLUE.!!!” You would have thought I told her that I had knocked up my girlfriend or decided to become a Hare Krishna.
“Relax, it looks fine.”
“I don’t care if it looks fine. They will judge you on what you wear. It’s just not interview attire, go home and change.”
“No. Let them judge me. If they don’t want me to work there based on what shirt I wore to an interview, fuck them.”
“I think it’s a huge mistake. Everyone else they are interviewing will be wearing a solid shirt.”
“That’s to my advantage. In a world of white shirt followers, I’ll be a striped shirt visionary.”
Postscript: The interview went fine, and they invited me back for a second interview. However, I decided not to take them up on the offer because I wasn’t overly impressed with the company, and they wanted me to start a lot sooner than I could. So the search went on.
The job hunt is a slow process and I am an impatient person; needless to say, we don’t get along very well. However, my patience is on par with a special ed teacher compared to my mother’s, who was incredulous that I didn’t have a corner office and cushy salary after a week of scattering my resume around town. To say that my mom has a vested interest in my job search is an understatement. She is, by nature, a worrier. She worries about everything, and her latest worry is that I won’t find a job. Ever. And that I’ll have to move back home like some Italian mama’s boy and live with her. And she’ll have to support me while I wear track suits and fall in with some local toughs.
All of these worries come despite the fact that I now am a proud owner of a Juris Doctorate to go along with my undergrad degree in finance, an actual useful major that is desired by employers; that I have good interpersonal and communication skills and do great in interviews; and most importantly, that I really do want to find a job.
It should come as no surprise then, that several weeks ago when I had a job interview, she called to wish me luck, we had the following exchange.
“Did you wear a suit?”
“No, flip flops and shorts, and a polo shirt.”
“You better be joking.” Her tone was ominous and devoid of humor. Naturally, I further prodded her.
“Well my polo is tucked in…” She was about to go off, but I stopped her before she could start. “Of course I wore a suit, lighten up.”
“Good. I never know with you. What color shirt?”
“It’s like a dark blue with white stripes, and a solid tie.”
“WHAT?!?!?! YOU CAN’T WEAR A STRIPED SHIRT TO AN INTERVIEW! IT HAS TO BE WHITE OR LIGHT BLUE.!!!” You would have thought I told her that I had knocked up my girlfriend or decided to become a Hare Krishna.
“Relax, it looks fine.”
“I don’t care if it looks fine. They will judge you on what you wear. It’s just not interview attire, go home and change.”
“No. Let them judge me. If they don’t want me to work there based on what shirt I wore to an interview, fuck them.”
“I think it’s a huge mistake. Everyone else they are interviewing will be wearing a solid shirt.”
“That’s to my advantage. In a world of white shirt followers, I’ll be a striped shirt visionary.”
Postscript: The interview went fine, and they invited me back for a second interview. However, I decided not to take them up on the offer because I wasn’t overly impressed with the company, and they wanted me to start a lot sooner than I could. So the search went on.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Email of the Summer
We received this the other day; I don't know the exact circumstances under which it was written, but I like to think the author hit his breaking point and decided to vent by sending us an email. He says it so well, I pretty much have nothing to add (which is very rare indeed).
Subject: THE WHOLE TRUTH AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH...
Thank you for being a beacon of truth to the innocent and naive contemplating law school. If I had it to do over again I would be an engineer or architect, but alas I am too old, bitter and jaded at this point to admit my mistake and start over from scratch. I too (being the approval seeking type I am) counseled with other attorneys and lawyers (there is a difference sometimes) about my vision of being the next great legal mind. They all - to the person - told me that it was not what it’s cracked up to be, that being a law student is not much better than being in the boil unit of the local medical facility, and that being a lawyer was a thankless, mind numbing, and usually unrewarding job. Instead of taking this solicited advice I was certain that I had stumbled onto directions to the mythical cities of Quivira, Cíbola, Shangri-La or El Dorado, or found the Fountain of Youth . . . I believed with all my heart they were saying these horrible things to keep me from entering the unbelievable life of enlightenment and joy that they greedily wanted to themselves. I was - with all this negativity - certain that I was headed for something so great and so wonderful, that an elaborate conspiracy had been erected to keep the weak at heart, or the cowardly, out of the “greatest profession” in history. Boy do I feel stupid now. It is closer to the “oldest profession” than the greatest. And while I have managed to distinguish myself and accumulate some degree of economic security, I am still overwhelmed every day with the feeling that I was totally screwed. More than ten years later half my graduating class that I know is out of the profession and happy or in the profession and as bitter as me. In quiet moments each and every attorney I converse with admits that they feel as I do about their chosen vocation. I know that any non-L reading this will probably feel as I did but at least I can sleep at night knowing that I told the truth about my profession. Keep up the good work guys.
Don
Subject: THE WHOLE TRUTH AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH...
Thank you for being a beacon of truth to the innocent and naive contemplating law school. If I had it to do over again I would be an engineer or architect, but alas I am too old, bitter and jaded at this point to admit my mistake and start over from scratch. I too (being the approval seeking type I am) counseled with other attorneys and lawyers (there is a difference sometimes) about my vision of being the next great legal mind. They all - to the person - told me that it was not what it’s cracked up to be, that being a law student is not much better than being in the boil unit of the local medical facility, and that being a lawyer was a thankless, mind numbing, and usually unrewarding job. Instead of taking this solicited advice I was certain that I had stumbled onto directions to the mythical cities of Quivira, Cíbola, Shangri-La or El Dorado, or found the Fountain of Youth . . . I believed with all my heart they were saying these horrible things to keep me from entering the unbelievable life of enlightenment and joy that they greedily wanted to themselves. I was - with all this negativity - certain that I was headed for something so great and so wonderful, that an elaborate conspiracy had been erected to keep the weak at heart, or the cowardly, out of the “greatest profession” in history. Boy do I feel stupid now. It is closer to the “oldest profession” than the greatest. And while I have managed to distinguish myself and accumulate some degree of economic security, I am still overwhelmed every day with the feeling that I was totally screwed. More than ten years later half my graduating class that I know is out of the profession and happy or in the profession and as bitter as me. In quiet moments each and every attorney I converse with admits that they feel as I do about their chosen vocation. I know that any non-L reading this will probably feel as I did but at least I can sleep at night knowing that I told the truth about my profession. Keep up the good work guys.
Don
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
I Fought The Law, And Surprisingly, I Won
Last Friday, I was on my way home from running a couple of errands, driving down a street I had traveled hundreds of times. I came to an intersection where the light was red and veered into the right lane. I stopped, looked to my left and saw no cars coming, so I made my right turn to continue on my way home.
Or so I thought.
As soon as I made the turn, I glanced into my rearview mirror and saw a police car coming up behind me. “Five-0, be cool”, I said to my dog, Ike, who was riding shotgun. That very next instant, he sped up to get right on my bumper and flipped on his lights. I cursed to myself, and pulled over to the side of the residential street I was driving on.
I put the car in park, rolled down my window, and watched in the side mirror as the cop approached my car. He was short and stocky, with dark blond hair that he wore in a closely cropped crew cut. He looked like a cop sent over from central casting. He arrived at my side, sized me up, and asked for my license and proof of insurance. I handed them over and he examined them. After a few seconds, he looked back at me and said, in a tone dripping with attitude, “So, do you think these street signs around here don’t apply to you?”
My inner smartass begged me to answer, “Yeah, pretty much,” but I resisted, mostly because I was genuinely confused as to why I had been pulled over. “What street sign are you referring to?” I asked.
“The one back there at the intersection that says ‘NO RIGHT ON RED, SCHOOLDAYS 7:30am-4:30pm,” he informed me, none of the attitude having left his tone.
“Oh, that one…Yeah, I saw it,” I replied, with a hint of arrogance in my voice.
He became incredulous. “Oh, so that street sign doesn’t apply to you,” he said, his voice filling with anger.
“Not today, it doesn’t. Today isn’t a school day.”
A wicked smile came across his face. He glanced at his watch, and said, “Well pal, last I checked today is a Friday, and Friday’s are a school day.”
Without saying a word, I pointed to the sign outside of the school across the street from where I pulled over, no more than 50 yards away from the intersection where I had made the allegedly illegal turn. In big black letters, the sign read: WELCOME BACK! SCHOOL STARTS AUGUST 21.
He read the sign and turned back towards me. “That don’t matter. School days are Monday through Friday, and today is Friday. You made an illegal right turn on red on a Friday, which is a school day, it don’t matter if school ain’t started yet.”
“Yes, it does,” I replied. “If they had intended to prevent right turns on red Monday through Friday, the sign would have read ‘No right on red, weekdays’…But it doesn’t. It goes one step further. They specified only school days. Thus, it doesn’t matter if they could have school on a specific day. In theory you could have school any day out of the year. What matters is if there actually is school on that day. So just because today is Friday doesn’t mean it’s a school day. It’s only a school day if school is in session. And according to that sign and the noticeable lack of activity around here, it isn’t.”
The cop’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched, and his face turned red. A vein appeared above his right eye, and for twenty of the longest seconds I can ever recall, he stared at me. The tension was palpable and the silence awkward. The only noise was Ike’s heavy breathing. Finally, his anger and embarrassment subsided enough to allow him to speak. “I’m gonna go run your license,” he snarled. “It had BETTER come back clear.”
He returned three minutes later and threw my license at me. His face was still red. “If I see you do anything around here, and I mean anything, I am going to pull you over and write you a ticket.” With that, he turned around and walked back to his car.
I pulled away, careful not to exceed the 25 mile speed limit. I turned to Ike and said, “That law degree is paying for itself, one $90 ticket avoided at a time.”
Or so I thought.
As soon as I made the turn, I glanced into my rearview mirror and saw a police car coming up behind me. “Five-0, be cool”, I said to my dog, Ike, who was riding shotgun. That very next instant, he sped up to get right on my bumper and flipped on his lights. I cursed to myself, and pulled over to the side of the residential street I was driving on.
I put the car in park, rolled down my window, and watched in the side mirror as the cop approached my car. He was short and stocky, with dark blond hair that he wore in a closely cropped crew cut. He looked like a cop sent over from central casting. He arrived at my side, sized me up, and asked for my license and proof of insurance. I handed them over and he examined them. After a few seconds, he looked back at me and said, in a tone dripping with attitude, “So, do you think these street signs around here don’t apply to you?”
My inner smartass begged me to answer, “Yeah, pretty much,” but I resisted, mostly because I was genuinely confused as to why I had been pulled over. “What street sign are you referring to?” I asked.
“The one back there at the intersection that says ‘NO RIGHT ON RED, SCHOOLDAYS 7:30am-4:30pm,” he informed me, none of the attitude having left his tone.
“Oh, that one…Yeah, I saw it,” I replied, with a hint of arrogance in my voice.
He became incredulous. “Oh, so that street sign doesn’t apply to you,” he said, his voice filling with anger.
“Not today, it doesn’t. Today isn’t a school day.”
A wicked smile came across his face. He glanced at his watch, and said, “Well pal, last I checked today is a Friday, and Friday’s are a school day.”
Without saying a word, I pointed to the sign outside of the school across the street from where I pulled over, no more than 50 yards away from the intersection where I had made the allegedly illegal turn. In big black letters, the sign read: WELCOME BACK! SCHOOL STARTS AUGUST 21.
He read the sign and turned back towards me. “That don’t matter. School days are Monday through Friday, and today is Friday. You made an illegal right turn on red on a Friday, which is a school day, it don’t matter if school ain’t started yet.”
“Yes, it does,” I replied. “If they had intended to prevent right turns on red Monday through Friday, the sign would have read ‘No right on red, weekdays’…But it doesn’t. It goes one step further. They specified only school days. Thus, it doesn’t matter if they could have school on a specific day. In theory you could have school any day out of the year. What matters is if there actually is school on that day. So just because today is Friday doesn’t mean it’s a school day. It’s only a school day if school is in session. And according to that sign and the noticeable lack of activity around here, it isn’t.”
The cop’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched, and his face turned red. A vein appeared above his right eye, and for twenty of the longest seconds I can ever recall, he stared at me. The tension was palpable and the silence awkward. The only noise was Ike’s heavy breathing. Finally, his anger and embarrassment subsided enough to allow him to speak. “I’m gonna go run your license,” he snarled. “It had BETTER come back clear.”
He returned three minutes later and threw my license at me. His face was still red. “If I see you do anything around here, and I mean anything, I am going to pull you over and write you a ticket.” With that, he turned around and walked back to his car.
I pulled away, careful not to exceed the 25 mile speed limit. I turned to Ike and said, “That law degree is paying for itself, one $90 ticket avoided at a time.”
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Don't Want to Practice?
Or are you thinking about what your alternatives would be to practicing law?
If so, send us an email to barelylegalblog@gmail.com. We have a quick survey we'd like you to fill out. We'd really appreciate it.
Thanks in advance.
P.S. we're not going to make fun of your responses (as we've been known to do).
If so, send us an email to barelylegalblog@gmail.com. We have a quick survey we'd like you to fill out. We'd really appreciate it.
Thanks in advance.
P.S. we're not going to make fun of your responses (as we've been known to do).
Thursday, August 10, 2006
I Hate Thinking of Titles
A friend of mine, who also recently graduated law school, relayed the following story:
Right after I decided to attend law school, my dad put me in contact with a friend of his, an attorney who worked for a large firm. We met for lunch, and at the outset he was condescending and arrogant, just looking to shoot me down. The first thing he asked me was, "How did you do on your LSAT?"
"I got a 165," I responded.
"Is that any good?" he asked.
"I suppose. It's in the 90th percentile."
He looked at me, trying to find the most delicate way to tell me something. Finally, he said, "Son, perhaps law school isn't for you."
Surprised, I asked why.
"Well, if 90% of the people did better on the LSAT, I just think you're going to struggle."
Right after I decided to attend law school, my dad put me in contact with a friend of his, an attorney who worked for a large firm. We met for lunch, and at the outset he was condescending and arrogant, just looking to shoot me down. The first thing he asked me was, "How did you do on your LSAT?"
"I got a 165," I responded.
"Is that any good?" he asked.
"I suppose. It's in the 90th percentile."
He looked at me, trying to find the most delicate way to tell me something. Finally, he said, "Son, perhaps law school isn't for you."
Surprised, I asked why.
"Well, if 90% of the people did better on the LSAT, I just think you're going to struggle."
Monday, August 07, 2006
Yet Another Email Exchange
From: Mike
To: Russ
Subject: Recent phone exchange
Date: Monday, 07 Aug 2006 16:34:29 -0500
Just got a call from a company I applied for a job with. The recruiter said she was calling about my resume, and then said, "So the $64,000 question, why aren’t you practicing law", setting the bait to either give my canned, rehearsed reply or be startled by the question.
Instead, I said, "Depends, how much time do you have?"
From: Russ
To: Mike
Subject: Re: Recent phone exchange
Date: Monday, 07 Aug 2006 16:55:36 -0500
Funny. Here is your story put through the Opinionista translator:
"Here's the $64,000 question" said the recruiter, a lithe young woman hungering to take a bite out of Manhattan yet still using clichéd mid-American phrases. Girlfriend was trying to procure me through the other line so I nervously hemmed and hawed, unsure of what to do. "Shoot me straight" the recruiter queried, as I could practically hear her Tiffany diamonds sparkling through the phone, "I need to know why you're not practicing". I had asked myself that question with great numerocity. Was it all a mistake just like her scolding tone implied? At last I stopped pouting in my Dartmouth class of 2001 pajamas and answered, "I want to be a writer".
To: Russ
Subject: Recent phone exchange
Date: Monday, 07 Aug 2006 16:34:29 -0500
Just got a call from a company I applied for a job with. The recruiter said she was calling about my resume, and then said, "So the $64,000 question, why aren’t you practicing law", setting the bait to either give my canned, rehearsed reply or be startled by the question.
Instead, I said, "Depends, how much time do you have?"
From: Russ
To: Mike
Subject: Re: Recent phone exchange
Date: Monday, 07 Aug 2006 16:55:36 -0500
Funny. Here is your story put through the Opinionista translator:
"Here's the $64,000 question" said the recruiter, a lithe young woman hungering to take a bite out of Manhattan yet still using clichéd mid-American phrases. Girlfriend was trying to procure me through the other line so I nervously hemmed and hawed, unsure of what to do. "Shoot me straight" the recruiter queried, as I could practically hear her Tiffany diamonds sparkling through the phone, "I need to know why you're not practicing". I had asked myself that question with great numerocity. Was it all a mistake just like her scolding tone implied? At last I stopped pouting in my Dartmouth class of 2001 pajamas and answered, "I want to be a writer".
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Recent Email Exchange
From: Mike
To: Russ
Subject: Why I Hated Law School
Date: Sunday, 06 Aug 2006 15:22:09 -0500
Russ, I was talking to a friend of mine the other day and I realized why I hated law school so much. First, let’s stipulate that everyone hates law school to a degree. Working off of that assumption, what bothered me was that other people didn’t seem as put out by it as I was. You know that I am not a bitter person in general. But law school made me bitter, at least towards law school. When I got out of my car everyday, it was like a black cloud appeared above my head, and followed me around until I got back out to my car after class, when all of the sudden the world would be sunny again. But no one else seemed to be like this. They all said they hated it, but then turned around and spent all their time with other law students, and joined clubs, and generally seemed to make the best out of it. And I couldn’t bring myself to make the best of it, so I was even more put out by it. Does that make sense?
From: Russ
To: Mike
Subject: Re: Why I Hated Law School
Date: Sunday, 06 Aug 2006 15:39:43 -0500
I don’t know if I follow you. What do you expect, everyone to make suicide pacts?
From: Mike
To: Russ
Subject: Re: Why I Hated Law School
Date: Sunday, 06 Aug 2006 15:43:21 -0500
No, what I am saying is, my problem wasn’t just law school, it was jealousy. Everyone else seemed to hate it too, but they made the best of it. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t make the best of the situation. I wish I could have sucked it up and found a way to enjoy it, but I couldn’t. And because other people could, I was jealous which made the whole thing that much worse. I guess part of it was my stubborn nature, part of it the degree of bitterness that had already built up. Some people can make the best of a bad situation, but I couldn’t, not this time. Maybe my coping skills suck.
I would have been a terrible addition to Ann Frank’s attic.
From: Russ
To: Mike
Subject: Re: Why I Hated Law School
Date: Sunday, 06 Aug 2006 15:49:12 -0500
Yeah, that makes sense.
Mike: “Hey, we're in here! I can't stand it anymore! ‘I believe that people are really good at heart?’ Are you crazy?!?!?!”
To: Russ
Subject: Why I Hated Law School
Date: Sunday, 06 Aug 2006 15:22:09 -0500
Russ, I was talking to a friend of mine the other day and I realized why I hated law school so much. First, let’s stipulate that everyone hates law school to a degree. Working off of that assumption, what bothered me was that other people didn’t seem as put out by it as I was. You know that I am not a bitter person in general. But law school made me bitter, at least towards law school. When I got out of my car everyday, it was like a black cloud appeared above my head, and followed me around until I got back out to my car after class, when all of the sudden the world would be sunny again. But no one else seemed to be like this. They all said they hated it, but then turned around and spent all their time with other law students, and joined clubs, and generally seemed to make the best out of it. And I couldn’t bring myself to make the best of it, so I was even more put out by it. Does that make sense?
From: Russ
To: Mike
Subject: Re: Why I Hated Law School
Date: Sunday, 06 Aug 2006 15:39:43 -0500
I don’t know if I follow you. What do you expect, everyone to make suicide pacts?
From: Mike
To: Russ
Subject: Re: Why I Hated Law School
Date: Sunday, 06 Aug 2006 15:43:21 -0500
No, what I am saying is, my problem wasn’t just law school, it was jealousy. Everyone else seemed to hate it too, but they made the best of it. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t make the best of the situation. I wish I could have sucked it up and found a way to enjoy it, but I couldn’t. And because other people could, I was jealous which made the whole thing that much worse. I guess part of it was my stubborn nature, part of it the degree of bitterness that had already built up. Some people can make the best of a bad situation, but I couldn’t, not this time. Maybe my coping skills suck.
I would have been a terrible addition to Ann Frank’s attic.
From: Russ
To: Mike
Subject: Re: Why I Hated Law School
Date: Sunday, 06 Aug 2006 15:49:12 -0500
Yeah, that makes sense.
Mike: “Hey, we're in here! I can't stand it anymore! ‘I believe that people are really good at heart?’ Are you crazy?!?!?!”
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Incoming 1Ls,
I know you all have dreams of being ranked in the top 10% and having the legal world be your oyster. But statistically speaking, you are just as likely to be this guy.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Ambition Run Amok
I have a friend; let’s call her “Courtney”. Courtney, like many of you, is a law student. Also like many of you, she hates law school with a passion. Courtney works for a fancy law firm this summer, which she hates. And Courtney has no desire to practice law.
I figured that Courtney got into her predicament the usual way: she was utterly clueless before entering law school, and by the time she realized her true feelings, she was stuck. Assuming this was her story, I made a remark about it to her, which she quickly corrected.
“Oh, no, I knew it would be like this,” she told me curtly. “When I was in college I had friends who were in law school, and they told me all about how much they hated it.” I was about to interject, when she continued. “Then after I graduated, I worked as a paralegal at a giant law firm for a year. It was miserable; the people were terrible, some were really evil. I was a naïve 22 year old when I started. I know this sounds weird, but working at the firm, I lost my youthful innocence.” I was about to make a virgin joke, but she kept going. “All my friends who were in law school when I was in college had graduated and moved on to big firm jobs of their own, and they hated it too. Plus, I started researching law school on my own, and discovered that most people I talked to, perfect strangers who were recent grads or current students all told me not to do it. I knew exactly what it was going to be like, and that I would hate it.
When she paused to take a sip of water, I got a word in. “Wait…so if all these people gave you such a bad impression of it, and you knew you’d hate it, may I ask why you even bothered to begin with?”
I assumed that this profound question would give her pause, and make her ponder her decision. I was wrong. “It was my goal,” she said earnestly as she took a bite of taco salad.
There's a real over-importance placed on ambition. Sometimes it's not always the best quality. Wouldn't the world have been better off with a lazy Hitler? He would've turned in and taken a nap halfway through Poland. He’d awake later and forget all about Europe, and decide to learn how to play the guitar.
I figured that Courtney got into her predicament the usual way: she was utterly clueless before entering law school, and by the time she realized her true feelings, she was stuck. Assuming this was her story, I made a remark about it to her, which she quickly corrected.
“Oh, no, I knew it would be like this,” she told me curtly. “When I was in college I had friends who were in law school, and they told me all about how much they hated it.” I was about to interject, when she continued. “Then after I graduated, I worked as a paralegal at a giant law firm for a year. It was miserable; the people were terrible, some were really evil. I was a naïve 22 year old when I started. I know this sounds weird, but working at the firm, I lost my youthful innocence.” I was about to make a virgin joke, but she kept going. “All my friends who were in law school when I was in college had graduated and moved on to big firm jobs of their own, and they hated it too. Plus, I started researching law school on my own, and discovered that most people I talked to, perfect strangers who were recent grads or current students all told me not to do it. I knew exactly what it was going to be like, and that I would hate it.
When she paused to take a sip of water, I got a word in. “Wait…so if all these people gave you such a bad impression of it, and you knew you’d hate it, may I ask why you even bothered to begin with?”
I assumed that this profound question would give her pause, and make her ponder her decision. I was wrong. “It was my goal,” she said earnestly as she took a bite of taco salad.
There's a real over-importance placed on ambition. Sometimes it's not always the best quality. Wouldn't the world have been better off with a lazy Hitler? He would've turned in and taken a nap halfway through Poland. He’d awake later and forget all about Europe, and decide to learn how to play the guitar.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Random Self-Indulgent Story About Me & My Dog
In the summer of 2003, before I started law school, I decided to get a dog. All my life, my family had dogs; they were always cute little furry creatures that my mom would put bandanas on and would prance around the house. These were great dogs, but I always wanted a dog more suited to me. It’s hard to feel masculine walking a Shih-Tzu down the street. So I resolved that when I finally got one of my own, I would get a dog that was quintessentially mine. This is how I came to own an English Bulldog, who I named Ike.
He was a good puppy; playful, friendly, goofy, and a total chick magnet. He never chewed up furniture or shoes, was housetrained fairly easily, and followed me everywhere I went. He was a great little dog.
Around the time that he turned six months, his bulldog personality began to really come through. He was stubborn and obstinate. He approached everything with the sort of persistent tenacity that made the breed famous. He absolutely had a mind of his own, and was never afraid to use it. If I would catch him doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing, like chewing holes in the drywall, I would scold him and he would take it like a champ. As soon as I was done, he would go right back to doing what I had just interrupted.
When it comes to stubborn, obstinate, anti-authoritarian, persistent personalities, Ike met had his match. He would have walked all over a weaker person, but not me. When I tried to make him do something that he didn’t want to do, he would sit down, ears back, eyes wide open, and stare straight up at me, defying me to make him do it. When he did, I had no problem waiting him out. If he didn’t want to pee in the rain, I would drag him to the middle of the yard and stand there looking at him until he was done struggling to try and get inside, and finally relented. If he didn’t want his ears cleaned, we’d have a Clash-of-the-Titans style wrestling match until he finally gave up and let me do it. And I loved every minute of it.
Ike's Defiant Look
When he wasn’t quite a year old yet, I left him with my parents for the weekend, and needless to say, he did not behave himself. When I got home I was told all of his misdeeds. “He wouldn’t leave Oscar and Mazey (their spoiled rotten Shih-Tzus) alone,” my mom told me. “He wouldn’t lie down and rest, he just was relentless in trying to get them to play. He is noisy, and just ran around all day and night. And when I tried to tell him what to do, he just sat there and looked at me like there was no way in hell he was going into his cage.”
“Yeah, he’ll do that,” I laughed.
“It’s one thing if you can handle him, but we can’t. Why don’t you take him to obedience school?” This seemed like a good idea. He behaved with me, but not with others, and if I wanted people to dogsit for me, he would need to learn to calm down and listen. Although I loved his stubbornness and independent spirit, I knew it was probably a smart thing to do. I researched obedience schools in the area, and learned that a top dog trainer was around here. I called and made an appointment for a free consultation. I liked the guy, and he said Ike would do better in one-on-one sessions. “Bulldogs are notoriously difficult to train. They take lots of work, but I can do it.”
“Don’t be so sure,” I told him. “He’s a stubborn little guy.” I decided to schedule three sessions for $100. “You might need more than that,” he said. I told him that if he was doing well, I’d schedule more sessions, but if it was apparent that it wasn’t going to work out, then I didn’t want to be out more non-refundable money.
We arrived for our first session, which was held in a big warehouse-like room. The first thing the instructor wanted to go over was the ‘sit’ command. Ike was a master sitter. I had been working on his sitting since he was a puppy, and it showed. He sat perfectly every time for the instructor. “This guy might be easier than I thought,” he told me. “Don’t count on it,” I said. Since Ike sat so well, he decided to move onto the ‘stay’ and ‘come’ command. He took out a treat, showed it to Ike, and told him to sit. Ike did. Then he said ‘Stay!’, and backed away, about 30 feet. He stopped, and called out, ‘Ike…Come!’ Ike barreled across the room, and received his treat. The trainer looked at me slyly, as if to say, “I told you so.”
He took out another treat, showed it to Ike, instructed him to sit and stay, backed away, stopped and called Ike again. Ike ran across the room, and got his treat. “I don’t know what you meant when you said he was stubborn. He’s a star!” the trainer exclaimed, clearly enamored with his own abilities. And I had to admit, I was impressed too. Had I been doing something wrong? Was Ike easily controllable all along, only I wasn’t fit for the task? Just as I thought this, the trainer again told Ike to sit and stay, and backed across the room. He called Ike to come, and Ike bolted in his direction. But halfway across the room, Ike suddenly put on the brakes, skidding on the concrete floor, and ended up in a sitting position, his head held high, ears pinned back, eyes wide, with a look on his face that said, “I know you are trying to train me, pal, and I don’t appreciate it.”
The trainer was baffled, and tried to get Ike to work with him, but Ike flat out refused. No amount of treats could entice him into cooperating. After 45 minutes of the one-hour session, the trainer quit trying, and said, “He’s a tough one. I suggest that you enroll him in our academy. I’ll take him for three weeks, work hard, and when you pick him up, he’ll be a changed dog. The cost is $2000.” I declined, and not just because of the price. When I watched Ike skid across the floor and defy the trainer, I decided that I liked him just the way he was.
Postscript: Ike’s puppy behavior was quite typical of bulldogs, I learned. They continue to act like puppies for two years. Eventually, he mellowed out and now spends most of his day sleeping and chewing giant rawhide bones. He still loves to play; some neighbors have puppies that he romps with until he tires out and decides to plop down. As gentle as he is with these dogs one-fifth his size, he is just as protective of them. Recently, when a strange dog lunged at one of his puppy friends, Ike went from docile and jovial to full on ready-to-attack mode, showing a ferocity that I had never seen before, ready to throw down with a large aggressive dog that got too close to his puppies. As for Ike and me, we still butt heads over things such as who gets the good spot on the couch and how far we are going to walk, and I still win. When I said I wanted a dog that was more suited to me, he was exactly what I meant.
Ike, with a puppy friend
He was a good puppy; playful, friendly, goofy, and a total chick magnet. He never chewed up furniture or shoes, was housetrained fairly easily, and followed me everywhere I went. He was a great little dog.
Around the time that he turned six months, his bulldog personality began to really come through. He was stubborn and obstinate. He approached everything with the sort of persistent tenacity that made the breed famous. He absolutely had a mind of his own, and was never afraid to use it. If I would catch him doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing, like chewing holes in the drywall, I would scold him and he would take it like a champ. As soon as I was done, he would go right back to doing what I had just interrupted.
When it comes to stubborn, obstinate, anti-authoritarian, persistent personalities, Ike met had his match. He would have walked all over a weaker person, but not me. When I tried to make him do something that he didn’t want to do, he would sit down, ears back, eyes wide open, and stare straight up at me, defying me to make him do it. When he did, I had no problem waiting him out. If he didn’t want to pee in the rain, I would drag him to the middle of the yard and stand there looking at him until he was done struggling to try and get inside, and finally relented. If he didn’t want his ears cleaned, we’d have a Clash-of-the-Titans style wrestling match until he finally gave up and let me do it. And I loved every minute of it.
Ike's Defiant Look
When he wasn’t quite a year old yet, I left him with my parents for the weekend, and needless to say, he did not behave himself. When I got home I was told all of his misdeeds. “He wouldn’t leave Oscar and Mazey (their spoiled rotten Shih-Tzus) alone,” my mom told me. “He wouldn’t lie down and rest, he just was relentless in trying to get them to play. He is noisy, and just ran around all day and night. And when I tried to tell him what to do, he just sat there and looked at me like there was no way in hell he was going into his cage.”
“Yeah, he’ll do that,” I laughed.
“It’s one thing if you can handle him, but we can’t. Why don’t you take him to obedience school?” This seemed like a good idea. He behaved with me, but not with others, and if I wanted people to dogsit for me, he would need to learn to calm down and listen. Although I loved his stubbornness and independent spirit, I knew it was probably a smart thing to do. I researched obedience schools in the area, and learned that a top dog trainer was around here. I called and made an appointment for a free consultation. I liked the guy, and he said Ike would do better in one-on-one sessions. “Bulldogs are notoriously difficult to train. They take lots of work, but I can do it.”
“Don’t be so sure,” I told him. “He’s a stubborn little guy.” I decided to schedule three sessions for $100. “You might need more than that,” he said. I told him that if he was doing well, I’d schedule more sessions, but if it was apparent that it wasn’t going to work out, then I didn’t want to be out more non-refundable money.
We arrived for our first session, which was held in a big warehouse-like room. The first thing the instructor wanted to go over was the ‘sit’ command. Ike was a master sitter. I had been working on his sitting since he was a puppy, and it showed. He sat perfectly every time for the instructor. “This guy might be easier than I thought,” he told me. “Don’t count on it,” I said. Since Ike sat so well, he decided to move onto the ‘stay’ and ‘come’ command. He took out a treat, showed it to Ike, and told him to sit. Ike did. Then he said ‘Stay!’, and backed away, about 30 feet. He stopped, and called out, ‘Ike…Come!’ Ike barreled across the room, and received his treat. The trainer looked at me slyly, as if to say, “I told you so.”
He took out another treat, showed it to Ike, instructed him to sit and stay, backed away, stopped and called Ike again. Ike ran across the room, and got his treat. “I don’t know what you meant when you said he was stubborn. He’s a star!” the trainer exclaimed, clearly enamored with his own abilities. And I had to admit, I was impressed too. Had I been doing something wrong? Was Ike easily controllable all along, only I wasn’t fit for the task? Just as I thought this, the trainer again told Ike to sit and stay, and backed across the room. He called Ike to come, and Ike bolted in his direction. But halfway across the room, Ike suddenly put on the brakes, skidding on the concrete floor, and ended up in a sitting position, his head held high, ears pinned back, eyes wide, with a look on his face that said, “I know you are trying to train me, pal, and I don’t appreciate it.”
The trainer was baffled, and tried to get Ike to work with him, but Ike flat out refused. No amount of treats could entice him into cooperating. After 45 minutes of the one-hour session, the trainer quit trying, and said, “He’s a tough one. I suggest that you enroll him in our academy. I’ll take him for three weeks, work hard, and when you pick him up, he’ll be a changed dog. The cost is $2000.” I declined, and not just because of the price. When I watched Ike skid across the floor and defy the trainer, I decided that I liked him just the way he was.
Postscript: Ike’s puppy behavior was quite typical of bulldogs, I learned. They continue to act like puppies for two years. Eventually, he mellowed out and now spends most of his day sleeping and chewing giant rawhide bones. He still loves to play; some neighbors have puppies that he romps with until he tires out and decides to plop down. As gentle as he is with these dogs one-fifth his size, he is just as protective of them. Recently, when a strange dog lunged at one of his puppy friends, Ike went from docile and jovial to full on ready-to-attack mode, showing a ferocity that I had never seen before, ready to throw down with a large aggressive dog that got too close to his puppies. As for Ike and me, we still butt heads over things such as who gets the good spot on the couch and how far we are going to walk, and I still win. When I said I wanted a dog that was more suited to me, he was exactly what I meant.
Ike, with a puppy friend
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
The Bar is Over...
...and now all I'm left with is the thought, 'Did I get 60% of the questions right needed to pass?'
Actually, I've found the best way to reassure yourself is to remember that only 20% of people fail. The trick is to count that 20% out and realize you're not one of them.
Here are my calculations based on my classroom of 50 bar exam takers:
* 5 people sweating freakishly who's skin broke out during the 6 hour test. I'll assume they freaked out and failed. That's 10%
* Two people didn't show up, and are counted as fails. That's 4%
* One girl's phone went off and got kicked out and counted as a fail. Another 2%.
* Guy with a ponytail obviously has very poor judgment which I'm sure will be reflected on the bar. Another 2%.
* Southerner who I'm sure will miss all the cosanguinity questions on the Family Law portion. We'll give him 50/50 odds so that's 1%.
* Idiot, who after hearing the instructions that he was to have nothing in front of him except pencils and his ID, asked "My wallet's in my pocket. Is that OK?"...Wait a minute, that was me.
Actually, I've found the best way to reassure yourself is to remember that only 20% of people fail. The trick is to count that 20% out and realize you're not one of them.
Here are my calculations based on my classroom of 50 bar exam takers:
* 5 people sweating freakishly who's skin broke out during the 6 hour test. I'll assume they freaked out and failed. That's 10%
* Two people didn't show up, and are counted as fails. That's 4%
* One girl's phone went off and got kicked out and counted as a fail. Another 2%.
* Guy with a ponytail obviously has very poor judgment which I'm sure will be reflected on the bar. Another 2%.
* Southerner who I'm sure will miss all the cosanguinity questions on the Family Law portion. We'll give him 50/50 odds so that's 1%.
* Idiot, who after hearing the instructions that he was to have nothing in front of him except pencils and his ID, asked "My wallet's in my pocket. Is that OK?"...Wait a minute, that was me.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Anonymous Lawyer Book Review
We both had a chance to read Jeremy Blachman’s Anonymous Lawyer earlier this month, and we both agreed that it was surprisingly good. I say “surprisingly” not because I don’t like the Anonymous Lawyer blog, but because was able to create a conflict with a definable story arc while sticking to the core theme of the blog (a hiring partner at a large firm blogging about firm life).
The entire book is told through blog posts and email exchanges, and this is done very effectively. The blog posts in the book take on the same over-the-top tone that the posts on his blog do; you know he is exaggerating, but you are never sure by how much, while the emails serve the purpose to move the story along and humanizing him (to a small degree). Critics of the blog (and undoubtedly the book) are typically defenders of the big firm lifestyle, who dismiss the blog and the book as a wholly inaccurate portrayal of BigLaw. That criticism might be valid, but the fact that so many other who work in BigLaw agree that Anonymous Lawyer is eerily like their real life jobs makes me wonder if it isn’t all just a matter of perception. Some have accused Russ and I of being anti-BigLaw; this really isn’t the case. Most people who I have met who want a firm job know exactly what they are getting themselves into, and I admire that. Others think they do, but find a reality much different from their expectations. The truth, like with most things, probably lies in the middle. I have always said that people who want a big firm job deserve exactly what they get, whether that is a satisfaction from having a career at the top of the industry and a very high salary, or depression and disappointment from getting involved in a lifestyle that they couldn’t handle.
An underlying theme that I gathered from the book is that Anonymous Lawyer is a deeply depressed individual who has tried to fill emotional voids with career achievements and the accompanying prestige. But it doesn’t always work out this way. One of my favorite parts of the book had a blog post about his upcoming high school reunion, and how he was looking forward to showing all the people from high school how successful and powerful he was. The next blog post expressed deep disappointment about how none of his classmates had heard of the firm or even knew what a partner did, and generally didn’t really care either. Jeremy did a great job of exploring how within the legal community, title and prestige mean everything but that outside of the legal community, those things are meaningless to the non-lawyer, and those who think otherwise are just heroes in their own minds. Ultimately, the book comes to a point where the reader is left rooting for Anonymous Lawyer to succeed, despite how unlikable he is. The story is fast paced and easy to read, well-written and cleverly executed, and no matter what your take on the big firm life is, a must-read.
Buy it here
The entire book is told through blog posts and email exchanges, and this is done very effectively. The blog posts in the book take on the same over-the-top tone that the posts on his blog do; you know he is exaggerating, but you are never sure by how much, while the emails serve the purpose to move the story along and humanizing him (to a small degree). Critics of the blog (and undoubtedly the book) are typically defenders of the big firm lifestyle, who dismiss the blog and the book as a wholly inaccurate portrayal of BigLaw. That criticism might be valid, but the fact that so many other who work in BigLaw agree that Anonymous Lawyer is eerily like their real life jobs makes me wonder if it isn’t all just a matter of perception. Some have accused Russ and I of being anti-BigLaw; this really isn’t the case. Most people who I have met who want a firm job know exactly what they are getting themselves into, and I admire that. Others think they do, but find a reality much different from their expectations. The truth, like with most things, probably lies in the middle. I have always said that people who want a big firm job deserve exactly what they get, whether that is a satisfaction from having a career at the top of the industry and a very high salary, or depression and disappointment from getting involved in a lifestyle that they couldn’t handle.
An underlying theme that I gathered from the book is that Anonymous Lawyer is a deeply depressed individual who has tried to fill emotional voids with career achievements and the accompanying prestige. But it doesn’t always work out this way. One of my favorite parts of the book had a blog post about his upcoming high school reunion, and how he was looking forward to showing all the people from high school how successful and powerful he was. The next blog post expressed deep disappointment about how none of his classmates had heard of the firm or even knew what a partner did, and generally didn’t really care either. Jeremy did a great job of exploring how within the legal community, title and prestige mean everything but that outside of the legal community, those things are meaningless to the non-lawyer, and those who think otherwise are just heroes in their own minds. Ultimately, the book comes to a point where the reader is left rooting for Anonymous Lawyer to succeed, despite how unlikable he is. The story is fast paced and easy to read, well-written and cleverly executed, and no matter what your take on the big firm life is, a must-read.
Buy it here
Monday, July 24, 2006
Let's Make A Deal
It's no secret that much of my law school "success" can be attributed to commercial outlines. I amassed quite a collection of them over the years, and since I have no use for them, why not sell them to you, the reader.
For my money, the best outlines on the market are Gilbert's, and thus, that is the brand I have. These will cost you upwards of $30 each if you buy them new, but I'll sell these outlines (which are like new) for much cheaper.
The 1L Package- This will get you Con Law, Civ Pro, Torts, Contracts, and Crim Pro for the low, low price of $50 plus $8 shipping. So for $58, you get five commercial outlines, a value of over $130, and I'l throw in a Crim Law-In a Nutshell for free. So that is five commercial outline, mint condition, plus a nutshell book, for $58. That's quite a deal folks. (Note: If crim pro isn't required the first year and you don't want it for later, I'll take it out and sell the other four, plus the nutshell book, for $48. First come first serve.)
The Business Nerd Package- For the upper level law student with a business background, there is going to be much temptation to take classes related to your business knowledge. That's why I put together this package of commerical outlines for Securities Regulations, Individual Income Tax, and Taxation of Business Entities (i.e., Corporate Tax, as mentioned in Confessions of A Bad Law Student) for the price of $30 plus $8 shipping. Any two of these books will be $35 total with shipping, and an individual book will be $20 with shipping. Again, first come first serve.
If you are interested, email me at barelylegalblog@gmail.com and we'll work it out.
***UPDATE***All the books have been sold. Thanks to all those who inquired
For my money, the best outlines on the market are Gilbert's, and thus, that is the brand I have. These will cost you upwards of $30 each if you buy them new, but I'll sell these outlines (which are like new) for much cheaper.
The 1L Package- This will get you Con Law, Civ Pro, Torts, Contracts, and Crim Pro for the low, low price of $50 plus $8 shipping. So for $58, you get five commercial outlines, a value of over $130, and I'l throw in a Crim Law-In a Nutshell for free. So that is five commercial outline, mint condition, plus a nutshell book, for $58. That's quite a deal folks. (Note: If crim pro isn't required the first year and you don't want it for later, I'll take it out and sell the other four, plus the nutshell book, for $48. First come first serve.)
The Business Nerd Package- For the upper level law student with a business background, there is going to be much temptation to take classes related to your business knowledge. That's why I put together this package of commerical outlines for Securities Regulations, Individual Income Tax, and Taxation of Business Entities (i.e., Corporate Tax, as mentioned in Confessions of A Bad Law Student) for the price of $30 plus $8 shipping. Any two of these books will be $35 total with shipping, and an individual book will be $20 with shipping. Again, first come first serve.
If you are interested, email me at barelylegalblog@gmail.com and we'll work it out.
***UPDATE***All the books have been sold. Thanks to all those who inquired
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Recent Email Exchange
From: Mike
To: Russ
Subject: The Hills
Date: Wed, 19 July 2006 20:47:28 -0500
My favorite show on TV right now is The Hills; but it reminds me of a quote from Daisy in The Great Gatsby: “I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool -- that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”
From: Russ
To: Mike
Subject: Re: The Hills
Date: Wed, 19 July 2006 20:55:12 -0500
I don’t think anything could better sum up your odd combination of lowbrow and highbrow tastes than that email you just sent me.
To: Russ
Subject: The Hills
Date: Wed, 19 July 2006 20:47:28 -0500
My favorite show on TV right now is The Hills; but it reminds me of a quote from Daisy in The Great Gatsby: “I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool -- that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”
From: Russ
To: Mike
Subject: Re: The Hills
Date: Wed, 19 July 2006 20:55:12 -0500
I don’t think anything could better sum up your odd combination of lowbrow and highbrow tastes than that email you just sent me.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Each To His Own
During Law School orientation they tour you through the campus. You look around during the tour and it smacks of familiarity: classes with the same people all day, lockers, a cafeteria. Then it hits you and you realize, ‘This place is set up exactly like high school!’
Naturally, you revert to your high school instincts and your mind races, ‘Gotta fit in! What clique do I belong to? Who am I better than? Who am I beholden to?’
I quickly found a group of similarly preppy white guys (which in law school are in overabundance) to hang out with. Comfortable in my clique, there was nothing left to do but hope they’d open up football tryouts as I was now 60 lbs heavier than I was in high school.
Not all people see law school as high school, though. Some see it as a “do over” for undergrad. For them, law school holds the promise of parties, girls, and drinking. One such character was a fellow by the name of Jonathan.
Jonathan hadn’t matriculated directly into law school from undergrad but had worked a few years and was glad to be back on campus. While the rest of us were still dipping our toe into law school social scene with trepidation, Jonathan was wallowing in it. Jonathan talked to everyone, hosted social events, invited himself to others.
When we all picked our seats the first day, everyone segregated themselves: Me and the preppy guys in the middle left, some jocks discussing fantasy football in the back row, and 50 nerds taking most of the other seats (I think I saw some Magic cards, even). Jonathan refused to fall into a clique, though. In fact, he decided to sit in the hot girls row.
I have to admit I was impressed. Jonathan seemed to be having good and regular conversations before and after class with the hot girls thanks to that seat.
‘Maybe this wasn’t high school, actually,’ I thought, ‘If those hot girls will talk to Jonathan then the high school social dynamic must truly and finally be broken. At last, law students have risen above the base human need to divide and conquer through social positioning’
Then one day the hot girls all showed up early to class. The entire “hot girl row” was filled because now there was one chair missing, Jonathan’s chair.
When Jonathan finally showed up he had to sit in the front row with the old guy and the LLM, literally inches from the professors spittling lectures.
After that day, a new calm pervaded the room. The hot girls occupied their row unmolested. The jocks dominated the last row. Jonathan slinked in each morning to join nerds in the front, and once again, the universe was in balance.
Naturally, you revert to your high school instincts and your mind races, ‘Gotta fit in! What clique do I belong to? Who am I better than? Who am I beholden to?’
I quickly found a group of similarly preppy white guys (which in law school are in overabundance) to hang out with. Comfortable in my clique, there was nothing left to do but hope they’d open up football tryouts as I was now 60 lbs heavier than I was in high school.
Not all people see law school as high school, though. Some see it as a “do over” for undergrad. For them, law school holds the promise of parties, girls, and drinking. One such character was a fellow by the name of Jonathan.
Jonathan hadn’t matriculated directly into law school from undergrad but had worked a few years and was glad to be back on campus. While the rest of us were still dipping our toe into law school social scene with trepidation, Jonathan was wallowing in it. Jonathan talked to everyone, hosted social events, invited himself to others.
When we all picked our seats the first day, everyone segregated themselves: Me and the preppy guys in the middle left, some jocks discussing fantasy football in the back row, and 50 nerds taking most of the other seats (I think I saw some Magic cards, even). Jonathan refused to fall into a clique, though. In fact, he decided to sit in the hot girls row.
I have to admit I was impressed. Jonathan seemed to be having good and regular conversations before and after class with the hot girls thanks to that seat.
‘Maybe this wasn’t high school, actually,’ I thought, ‘If those hot girls will talk to Jonathan then the high school social dynamic must truly and finally be broken. At last, law students have risen above the base human need to divide and conquer through social positioning’
Then one day the hot girls all showed up early to class. The entire “hot girl row” was filled because now there was one chair missing, Jonathan’s chair.
When Jonathan finally showed up he had to sit in the front row with the old guy and the LLM, literally inches from the professors spittling lectures.
After that day, a new calm pervaded the room. The hot girls occupied their row unmolested. The jocks dominated the last row. Jonathan slinked in each morning to join nerds in the front, and once again, the universe was in balance.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Fun With Apartment Hunting
I am in the midst of apartment hunting, which is always a pain. My search criteria includes “not the trendy area with lots of yuppie jerkoffs,” “not the trendy area with lots of pretentious artsy types,” and “not the ghetto.” My task is even more difficult because of my dog, Ike. I have to find apartments which will let me have a 50 pound dog live there. Before I bother to go look at a place, I call first to make sure they allow pets, and allow pets of Ike’s carriage. I found one such place today, but the lady informed me that no 1st floor units were available, and that Ike was too big to live on the second floor. “I’m sorry, we only allow pets under 35 pounds in second and third floor apartments,” she told me. I asked why.
“Dogs over 35 pounds are too noisy to live above someone, so we limit them to the ground floor.” She sounded slightly irritated.
“I understand that,” I said. “But let me ask you this: I weigh 220 pounds, and if I didn’t have a dog, I could rent any unit you have, right?”
“Um…well, yes…I don’t understand where you are going with this…”
“You said that a dog over 35 pounds is too noisy to live above someone, so they have to stay on the ground floor. Well, I weigh four times what my dog weighs, and I could clomp and stomp around all day and it would be fine, correct? Which is noisier, me or my dog?”
“Uh…I guess you are…I never really thought about it like that. I guess it’s a valid point.”
“Okay then…so can I come look at the second floor apartment?”
“No, like I said, your dog is too heavy, and that’s the policy. And from what I am gathering, I’m not sure we would want you living on the second floor either,”
“Dogs over 35 pounds are too noisy to live above someone, so we limit them to the ground floor.” She sounded slightly irritated.
“I understand that,” I said. “But let me ask you this: I weigh 220 pounds, and if I didn’t have a dog, I could rent any unit you have, right?”
“Um…well, yes…I don’t understand where you are going with this…”
“You said that a dog over 35 pounds is too noisy to live above someone, so they have to stay on the ground floor. Well, I weigh four times what my dog weighs, and I could clomp and stomp around all day and it would be fine, correct? Which is noisier, me or my dog?”
“Uh…I guess you are…I never really thought about it like that. I guess it’s a valid point.”
“Okay then…so can I come look at the second floor apartment?”
“No, like I said, your dog is too heavy, and that’s the policy. And from what I am gathering, I’m not sure we would want you living on the second floor either,”
Friday, July 14, 2006
The Douchebags Speak Out
I still wear my high school shirt and hoodie. I went to a competitive NYC high school and I am DAMN PROUD. (not to mention, the high school is a big plus for hiring as well within NYC)
You should just stop picking on "douchebags," you might be more wrong than right.
Heather
Heather,
I'm totally with you. I still wear my Kaiser High School Track Letterman's jacket, whenever I can. I'm DAMN PROUD, too, of my 5 min 32 sec mile (and employers all want a guy who's quick on his feet, right?)
Russ
You should just stop picking on "douchebags," you might be more wrong than right.
Heather
Heather,
I'm totally with you. I still wear my Kaiser High School Track Letterman's jacket, whenever I can. I'm DAMN PROUD, too, of my 5 min 32 sec mile (and employers all want a guy who's quick on his feet, right?)
Russ
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