lessons learned:

1. When ordering new CDs during exam week, do not cheap on the shipping. Pay the five dollars or whatever so that the CDs arrive *before* exams end, when you most need them. My plane takes off in three hours, which does not give me enough time to fully appreciate my freshly-arrived copy of Obrigado Brazil. Had I not opted for the free shipping, I would have had it in hand a week ago, and cramming for Patent Law would have been a lot more fun.

2. Never predict the end of winter on your blog, at least not in March. It's the surest possible way to wake up on a day full of planned air travel and find that it's snowing out.

3. If travel plans are in your future, don't wait until the last minute to do laundry. Three hours before takeoff is a bad time to be waiting for your undies to dry so you can pack them.

4. Have lots of spare undies. You never know when you'll need them.

the itinerary

In a brazen attempt to act like normal law students do, I've gone and booked myself some travel over Spring Break.

Tomorrow I fly out to spend a week by my mother in central-coast Florida, where I will attempt to make some progress on my e-commerce paper/write-on. We'll see how much gets done, given that there are carrots to feed to the horses and laps to be done in the pool and lots of big plastic cupsful of white zinfandel with ice cubes just waiting to be sipped while watching cheesy old game shows. Life on the farm with Mom works magic on the stressed. I think I'm due.

A week from Thursday I will fly from Florida to my cousin's wedding in Costa Rica. He, incidentally, is the younger brother of my lawyer cousin who himself got married last August. Despite being only the second-eldest, I am officially the longest-married grandchild in the family. But it won't truly feel weird until one of the other ones has a baby first.

La la la la la. Horses. Weddings. Papers to write. Law school to come back to. Life goes on.

Happy spring break!

the talk on a cereal box

Happened today upon Prof. Burgess-Jackson's page of advice for undergraduates considering law school. Principal among his recommendations is that the larval prospectives major in philosophy.

Where I grew up, in New Jersey, this is called representing.

It's not surprising that a philosophy professor, clearly satisfied with and enthusiastic about his field of choice, should suggest it as the ideal path to the study of law. Quoth he: "The skills needed by law students and attorneys--careful analysis of texts, sensitivity to vagueness and ambiguity (these differ!), extraction of principles from cases (i.e., imposing order on chaos), argument (often for propositions that one does not personally accept), criticism of arguments made by others, and the articulation of difficult concepts--are precisely those that are inculcated and refined in the study of philosophy."

And the study of English, I'd argue. Not to mention the study of political science, history, or classics. Any good foundation in the humanities involves practice in the skills Prof. Burgess-Jackson enumerates; any university dedicated to the principle of a Liberal Education (as was my alma mater, to such an extent that my pragmatist father was ready to walk out on the information meeting) has Prof. Burgess-Jackson's bases covered even through the hard science majors.

Personally, I've never been inclined toward philosophy. Over dinner in December, I appalled my most excellent mentor (himself a degreed philosopher) with the announcement that I was planning on taking Tax -- and was actually looking forward to it. He opined that it was a waste of space in both my schedule and my brain-pan, which could instead be dedicated to such august pursuits as History of Legal Thought. "I'm no philosopher," I protested by way of excuse. "I'm an intellectual functionary."

Blame it on the aforementioned pragmatist father, perhaps, or any number of equally-pragmatic relatives who raised me on "What are you going to do with that?" I majored in linguistics as an undergraduate not because I loved Chomskian syntax, but because I delighted in the idea of being fluent in multiple languages. (I was, for awhile -- both fluent and delighted.) Classes that taught me Stuff I Could Take With Me were good, solid things. And familial pressure aside, I liked them. The only philosophy course I ever took -- although I was long intrigued by one called "The Problem of Evil" -- was introductory logic, mostly because it was taught by a dear friend of mine.

Logic turned out to be handy. And "The Problem of Evil" probably would have been fun, if I hadn't been in such a hurry to graduate college. But I can't say that the lack of philosophical training in my undergraduate career has harmed me in law school.

Honestly, what I wish I'd studied more is economics.

It probably doesn't help that my law school is the Law and Economics Capital of the Known Universe. My Trademarks class, last term, was taught by a Ph.D. economist. Economic arguments turn up in the damnedest places here: ethnic-club luncheons, debates on the Fourteenth Amendment, even a group of 2Ls deciding where to grab dinner after musical auditions. "You're imposing costs on A.," I overheard one say. They were probably joking around. Perhaps that makes it even weirder.

I'm over the weirdness now. I've learned what public goods and social costs are. I no longer wink into I-feel-stupid panic mode when the classroom discussion moves into economics territory. But I did, for a long time. And it was not fun. Nothing compounds a transfer student's sense of unworthiness like having everyone around you be fluent in a language that nobody ever spoke in your linguistics major.

So I would concur with Prof. Burgess-Jackson to the extent that everyone should read a lot, think even more, and take a class in logic. But I'd add that whatever you major in, you'll be better off in the long term taking an intro course in microeconomics as well. Particularly if you wind up at this law school.

one step back

My first attempt at a short write-on topic proposal was remanded to me last week for further consideration. I shelved it during exams, but should really start thinking about it again.

The good news is that it wasn't rejected. I can still write on this topic; I just need to disclose more in my short proposal. Another redraft or two should do it, and then I can move on to the long proposal. What I think will probably happen is that I'll start writing the actual paper -- the "final paper for my e-commerce seminar" version -- and from that gain the substance to enrich my current skeletal proposal into something closer to the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.

Still, the bad news is that I don't think I can pull off a complete and publishable comment by the March 31 cutoff date. If the editorial process is this hands-on all the way through, nothing will happen in less than at least two drafts. (This is good: I learned long ago to put my trust in redrafting. The more you rewrite per someone else's advice, the more likely you are to make that someone happy.) But my editor likely has better things to do with his spring break than spend that time mentoring my note-in-progress, even assuming I could feed him enough material for a meaningful edit. By the time spring term starts up, two weeks from tomorrow, that's basically it for time.

Missing the deadline means that I won't be able to write on to the law review "this year," a.k.a. with the current editorial board. From that perspective, the new year's resolution smells doomed. But the new board will probably start entertaining submissions in May, continue through the summer, and even accept 3Ls through the fall term. And new year's resolutions are traditionally pegged to the calendar year rather than the academic year anyway. I might still be able to get away with this while remaining within my self-imposed parameters.

Damn, I love self-imposed parameters.

reemerging

And now it's spring break.

In the past two weeks, while I was busy submitting to the crush of the exam-season vise, the seasons changed. Almost without my noticing. Now I look outside and not only is all the snow gone, but the residual charcoal-gray layer of salt has been street-swept and rain-washed away. The waterfront is completely thawed. The first boat has reappeared in the long-empty harbor. In California, this would be spring.

"What season is it?" I asked T. as we sat down to our last Con Law class, a week ago.

She did a double take. "What do you mean, what season is it? Is this a trick question?" (Apparently, 'tis the season to be overly suspicious of hidden issues in any question posed to you. Blame the exam-givers.)

"No...I'm just wondering...because it doesn't seem to be winter any more, but it's not yet spring."

"Sure it's spring!"

"Nothing's growing yet."

"Then it's winter still!" T. was having no truck with metaphysics on this particular Friday morning.

I joke that we had three seasons in California: spring, summer and rain. Here, it seems we have five. I've seen summer, I've seen autumn, I've seen winter, and I presume that spring will arrive within the next month or so. But right now, it's an interstitial season, wing or sprinter; mid-forties, sunny, windy, and dry. The yellowed grass and bare trees in the park are perplexed: is it time to bud yet? Eh? Is it? Then the nighttime temperature drops back below freezing and they collectively shrug.

One thing is for sure: it's no longer exam season. My post-exam ritual, once an elaborate thing, has now been pared back to three small gestures: adding the casebook to the Sell-Back pile, recycling all the practice exams, and dropping the outline into the plastic bag where I now store old outlines ever since they outgrew any of the binders I own. Depositing my Patent Law outline last night meant that exams, such as they were, were officially over. For another two months at least.

Now for everything else on the to-do list that's been idling for weeks. I'm done with Tax; it's time to do my taxes.

[keels over]...*thud*

All done.

So tired.

More later.

hmm

Perhaps appropriate for my impending Patent Law exam:

G R E E T I N G S Capricorn

There's no single way of doing things. Established solutions are guidelines that you can ignore at any time. This is what separates the artists from the bureaucrats. Work your way through the world's most imposing creative block by playing with the problem like a toy. Come at this thing from a different angle. Live with it like an enigmatic friend. Did you ever notice how absurd people and furniture become when you stand on your head and study them from upside down? Maybe that's the principle you need to employ. If anyone asks, there's a method to your madness.

Please send waves from 2-5 today; this is an extra-perplexing test that'll need 'em.

still sprinting

Tax is done.

No time to blog.

Patent Law tomorrow.

Thanks for the waves; I rode them. And I haven't passed out from exhaustion yet, so it's all good.

(It's funny how these exams, stressful as they are, still haven't registered in my mind as the actual endpoints of the classes I took this term. I'm going to come back from spring break and not be taking Tax any more. That's just weird.)

Onward!

here goes nothing, take 2

Tax exam in three hours.

After a night of bizarre dreams, waking up with a migraine, burning 400 calories on the elliptical trainer (within a half hour!) while speed-leafing through my Tax outline, and a long hot shower, I feel...jittery. Not fearful; there's no need to fear exams any more. But stressed. Strung-out. This is just too much too fast for my tastes. Exhaustion and brain fry are there on the horizon, dancing and waving, teasing me, threatening to set in now when I really need them to wait at least until dinnertime tomorrow.

Solution: Soy protein. Green tea. Lucky charms. The Hymn to the Sun. And any waves you might be willing to send my way are much appreciated.

(As intervivos gifts, they'll be received with a carryover basis, unless you argue that as pure goodwill they are accorded no basis other than the consideration tendered to acquire *whack whack whack* stop that.)

hard up

Three exams in four days is a BAD THING.

And when the two consecutive exams are Tax and Patent Law, tomorrow and Saturday, that's even worse.

*boing*

I'm done with Equal Protection!

I'm thrilled to be done with Equal Protection. Wondrous though the professor was -- and he truly was, I'd gladly take as many other classes with him as I could -- this was just, from start to finish, Not My Thing. But I did it. And it's done. And now it will no longer mystify me when I hear people talking about things like strict scrutiny and narrow tailoring. And I've got a cute flowchart that might even serve me on the bar exam. And did I mention it's done?

Exam: check. A weird one, it was. I've never had such a long, unfactful, theory-inclined question count for so much on a law exam before. But the good thing about a question like this is...

...hang on, I'm sure there's a good thing about it...

...ah yes, the good thing about it is that you can't possibly kick yourself for having missed anything since you're so completely bewildered by what the question was asking in the first place. That would make this the first law exam from which I've managed to walk away without second-guessing my answer. Although I bet if I could, I would.

(Equally bewildering: why La Campanella lodged itself in my head midway through the question. Not the first time that phantom music has visited me during an exam, but still an omen I can't quite decipher.)

Then again, maybe I still haven't really shifted into exam mode. Did I really take a Con Law exam today? Do I really have a Tax exam on Friday, and one in Patent Law on Saturday? These certainly don't seem real. Maybe this wasn't real either. Maybe I'll wake up next week and...find myself in Florida working on my paper.

Thanks to all who sent waves; they were well-received, even here in the far boondocks of the state of denial!

here goes nothing

In a little over two hours, I'm going to take an exam. ("Con Law III: Revenge of the Fourteenth Amendment.")

I've got my outline, my equal-protection flowchart, my substantive due process checklist, a bottle of water and a Luna bar. I've got the detachable floppy drive for my trusty old Thinkpad, a pair of floppy disks, highlighter and pencil, and my exam number. I've got my red knickers, lucky charms, and various and sundry other articles of clothing with which I associate good fortune on exams. I'm fueling up right now on Yogi Tea and edamame. In a little while, I'm going to sit down in front of the laughing Buddha on my windowsill, put on the Hymn to the Sun, close my eyes, and downshift into exam-taking mode. And stay there. Until this ends.

Waves are highly valued, any time from now until about dinnertime.

18 constitution

As with many things at my law school, our highly granularized sequence of Constitutional Law courses is both a godsend and the bane of my courseload.

The exam I'm taking tomorrow (!?!?!!!), for example, will conclude a class called Constitutional Law III: Equal Protection and Substantive Due Process. Con Law III features a few of the best cases from Jeremy's classic satire, but fails to mention far more. Those, I guess, will come up in Con Law I: Government Structure. Or maybe Con Law IV: Speech and Religion. Or, if you just can't imagine cramming both the First Amendment and the Establishment Clause into a single term, Con Law II: Speech and Con Law V: Religion. Not to mention all the seminars and independent studies on unenumerated constitutional rights and advanced constitutional theory and [adjective] constitutional [noun] as far as your imagination extends.

I was advised, during a formative phase in my law school career, to take lots of Bar Courses. These are the subjects on which I will eventually be tested as a victim of the California (and potentially other states TBD) bar exam. Now I've got a little JCA-shaped angel on my right shoulder, mewling in my ear that I should take a great deal of Con Law. If not because it represents the heart, soul and spleen of the American legal system, then at least because it's going to be on the bar exam and I'd rather take my time and learn it properly than slam it in a BarBRI class.

At this law school, this means at least three Con Law courses to ensure that all your bar-exam bases are covered. Godsend: for people who like Con Law, you can do that plus a whole lot more. Bane: I am not one of those people.

I will be indescribably glad, come about five o'clock tomorrow, when my Con Law exam is over and I can slip back into blissful nonconfrontation with the Fourteenth Amendment. But between now and then, I've got a load of flowcharts to make. *sigh*...at least they'll be useful for bar review too. I hope.

guidance

Last year I drank a great deal of green tea. I'd take it in pretty much any form, but my favorite flavor was unquestionably the super-juiced version from Yogi Tea. I'd grab a cup first thing in the morning, and by the end of Civ Pro I could feel the antioxidants dancing through my bloodstream like so many bits of glitter. That yogi knows his chi.

I hadn't had any Yogi Tea for months without realizing how much I missed it. Then I happened upon the stuff yesterday at Trader Joe's, and couldn't resist. It is exam season, after all, whether or not my brain is willing to admit it, and I need all the process-boosting vitamins I can get. (Perhaps it's a good thing that I ran out of Stoli Vanil last night. But I'd argue that it too contains process-boosting vitamins of a sort.)

Today I made myself a cup as I played around with a Visio grid of the major patent act provisions. Amidst the lovely snarl of 102(g)(2) priority rules, I noticed that the tag on the tea bag bore a fortune: "Whatever you do today will be the most beautiful."

That's one beautiful statute grid, I guess.

check (the calendar)

Con Law outline is DONE.
Tax outline is done.
Patent Law outline is done.

Con Law final exam is on Wednesday afternoon.
Tax final exam is on Friday afternoon.
Patent Law final exam is on Saturday afternoon.

Despite my recent outlining blitz, my subconscious has yet to fully register that these are actual final exams, the focus in fact of an entire term's worth of work. I still can't quite imagine how such a thing could be happening in the second week of March.

Some isolated synapses have begun firing, though. Last night I dreamed that I was taking my Tax exam: it was in my former Trademarks classroom, and Professor Tax himself was proctoring it. I, meanwhile, was cleaning out my pullman, finding everything in there from CDs to a chainmail shirt (N.B. I do not own one of these in real life). You should be working on that Tax exam, my conscience needled me, but I ignored it -- until I saw people start handing in their answers. Then I spooked. And woke up.

"Sounds like a regular pre-exam anxiety dream," said my husband.

"Except I haven't had any anxiety yet," I said. "I think this means I need some."