Screeeeech!

Oh my god it's February! Oh my god it's February! Oh my god it's February! Oh my god it's February! Oh my god it's February! Oh my god it's February! Oh my god it's February! Oh my god it's February! Oh my god it's February! Oh my god it's February!

Don't Panic, don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, Don't Panic, don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, Don't Panic, don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, Don't Panic, don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, Don't Panic, don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, Don't Panic, don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, Don't Panic, don't panic, don't panic, don't panic.

No, but February . . .

Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic!

Must remain calm. Think of kittens. Think of having graduated from high school, college, law school. I made a license plate once. I can pass the bar. I'm good enough, and smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.

I still haven't memorized specific intent or general intent crimes. That Professor Whitebread was totally crap. How could he skip so much. That lazy bastard tries to pass off the absense of a handout like it's some strategy. He skipped a bunch of important law. Three-thousand dollars means I don't have to go it alone, bucko.

Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic.

February.

Panic.

It's finished!

($5 to whoever gets the reference).

And with 100% of precincts reporting (i.e.: the 5th class hath posted), it's unofficially official.

I'm the proud owner of an as yet fairly useless Juris Doctor.

For those of you keeping score at home - this was my highest scoring semester in law school. It seems the key to doing well is to completely check out mentally, ditch a lot of classes to travel the state with your awesome boyfriend, keep up with your reading, force your friends to scavange their bedrooms and recycle bins for their old outlines, cram like hell, phone a few in, and breeze across the finish line.

Who knew.

Think the bar will work the same way? Yeah, it's okay, me neither.

Anyway you look at it this study bodes ill for my future. If I am, I'm screwed. Or not as the case may be (ha! get it! get it! proving my own point!?!). If I'm not, then I'm just boring and that may be far, far worse. (h/t)

California may be well-known for its perfect weather, its well-protected environment and natural wonders, yet I can't help but think there's something unfair about the climate here.

The tree out front has been blooming for a week now. Should someone tell it it's only January? The PA forecast is for snow this week, but were that groundhog here, he'd be just as certain that spring had arrived.

I love flowering trees - despite what they do to my car, each petal adhering itself to my windshield like wallpaper swatches. It always makes me happy to see them bloom, to enjoy the interesting phase before the branches are covered with fat, red leaves.

My favorite tree, however, is the one outside my bathroom window. Technically, I think it grown from the neighbor's yard, but from my vantage point, it's all mine.

It's a cherry tree. It has white blossoms. The pink blossoms above aren't from a cherry tree. If I thought about it enough, this might bother me, but as it stands, the transluscent white cherry blossoms are far superior because they give way to fat, garnet-hued cherries by June. The berries, framed with green leaves, sway in the afternoon wind of San Francisco's true summer months - May and June - and provide a cherry reminder of what the rest of the state must be enjoying in July and August.

It gives the bar too much credit for my meloncholy to say that studying has taken the bloom off this year's bloom - and yet, it's the best explanation I can think of right now.

But there they are. Hopeful. Fluttery. Glistening in winter rain.

Dear Professor Conviser,

Wow, I can't believe that's really someone's name.

Anyway, I wanted to give you a little hint about your Remedies outline.

Underlining, bold-face type, and shaded boxes lose their effectiveness if you underline, bold-face, or shade everything on the page on every page in the outline.

I bet you're one of those guys who uses 40 or 50 clipart items for your holiday letters too, right?

Please, back off the fancy text.

Thanks.

What a fundamentally cozy word, no?

I'm here at Nook on the corner of Hyde and Jackson, nooked between Russian and Nob Hills in San Francisco. A heavy mist that, if inclined, would be rain, is blowing past outside. The cable cars rumble past, turning the corner, and wrapping my aching back in an almost-massage embrace.

Inside, it smells of coffee, cafe snacks, and steamed milk. Soon, there will be sake cocktails - the best concept to hit non-fully licensed establishments since beer - served along side a steaming page of improperly pleaded complaints.

Studying is better here.

Disjoined Twin: Split in two, the Panamanian container ship Twin Star sinks after colliding with another cargo vessel in heavy fog near the Peruvian port of Callao. All but one of the 23-person crew was rescued; the missing sailor's fate was unknown. (from the SF Chron)

I didn't know it was physically possible, but I just checked my Maritime Law grade and I got a freakin' A+. No, really.

And again, it may be tacky to share, but while studying for the Bar, one takes personal validation where one can.

A+!

So, for you boaters out there, next time you collide or allide (is that the right way to form that word in that tense?) with something - you just give me a call. Um, after May. Assuming I pass the bar. Okay, just don't hit anything between now and then.

See, it's not just me.

Even Amber offers the don't-do-it-to-do-it advice to pre-laws.

There are torts principles everywhere. So long as you know where to look.

Here, for example, a handy example of what a landowner might do to warn anticipated trespassers of artificial conditions on the land capable of inflicting serious bodily harm or death.

Since this was right off the footpath, a reasonable landowner would anticipate trespassers meandering onto the premises. While the landowner has no duty to repair or correct the defect, he does have duty to warn of the artificial condition if he knows about it.

Good job, landowner.

My flight back was blessedly uneventful and by this afternoon I was safely home and ready to get back in the BarBri saddle. I'm tired, but don't feel like jet lag is going to be a problem - thanks to a quick turnaround and fortuitously timed flights.

At home, I unpacked, too a nice hot shower to get that airplane feeling off of me, and emerged to hear a strange sound coming from the kitchen. I knew I was supposed to be the only person in the house and though our cats are crafty, they've yet to develop opposible thumbs, so why there was water running downstairs was beyond me as I crept down the hallway.

Seems our hot water heater chose today to crap out. And by crap out, I mean, literally crap out all its water all over the kitchen floor, leaving me with 2 inches of unpleasant smelling puddle and no hot water until the landlord can install a new one tomorrow.

So you see, kids, the moral of the story: the trip wasn't a distraction, wasn't going to make me less prepared for tomorrow's practice MBE. This hot water development, however, really messes with the program.

And my floors.

Yuck.

It's a strange feeling to wander in a place older than your own history. Older than your country. Older than the government for which you wanted to work and with which you are still angry. Older than most everything save some of the laws - or at least their forebears - you're now cramming into your head as fast as you can.

And so it was on Tuesday, a day away from the BarBri books, when Rob took me to see my first castle in Colchester and we parked next to an ancient town wall and across from what remains of a priory built sometime in the 1100s.

Practically every century is recorded in this town. Sloping 1600s taverns support 1500s walls pressed against 1850s marble wonders. And a castle in the center of it all. One wonders how British school children spend a single day in a classroom when there's so much field-trip-worthy around.

This is one of Rob's photos, not mine, but this is his family's home in Copdock. Not only is it a lovely, comfortable home, but it's got a name, which makes it cooler than most houses out there.

I can't help but think as I sit in the sun room outlining and drilling torts that this trip makes complete sense for many reasons - not the least of which is that it proves my commitment to my education. After all, I've come to the source, haven't I?

Nearly all the damn exam is based in long-outdated, overruled, or statutorily nullified English common law, so under the immersion theory of learning, coming to look for Blackacre itself is the best thing to do.

Why not study among buildings built when the law was first developed? Osmosis alone should give me an edge.

After a long but blessedly uneventful flight - here I am, behaving like a stereotypical American.

The inside of that booth, however, smelled frighteningly similar to a Tenderloin sidewalk.

But it sure looks classy!

To prove I'm as focused as ever - look, here's a law related coloring book for you, courtesy some of my card-carrying lawyer friends.

Upon hearing about the plans, one reaction was concern over my long term interests. My response: Exactly.

Have BarBri books, will travel.

Wish me luck.

With the scoreboard now showing a passing grade in Evidence, there are just two classes between me and my J.D.

A special thanks to Leah B. and this song for getting me through Park's Evidence class.

Amber tagged the world at large with this Fours meme and it seems like a good study break having to do with little but not-the-bar, which makes it great:

Four Jobs You've Had
Barista
Production Assistant
Tour Guide
Law clerk

Four Movies You Could Watch Over and Over
Love Actually
Love & Sex
Xanadu
Super Troopers

Four Place You've Lived
San Pedro, Ca.
Sacramento, Ca.
Claremont, Ca.
Ripley, WV

Four TV Shows You Like To Watch
Veronica Mars
Spaced
Scrubs
The West Wing

Four Places You've Been On Vacation
San Diego, CA
Washington, DC
Burlington, VT
Omaha, NE

Four Websites You Visit Daily
Prettier Than Napolean
SF Chronicle
Blogging.la
Metroblogging San Francisco

Four of My Favorite Foods
Sandwiches
Milano's Pizza
Grande nonfat chai
Sushi

Four Places I'd Rather Be
Copdock, Suffolk, UK
San Pedro, Ca.
Sacramento, Ca.
Not Studying, Anywhere

Four Albums I Can't Live Without
Garden State Soundtrack
All Over The World: The Very Best of The Electric Light Orchestra
Home, Dixie Chicks
Tragic Kingdom, No Doubt

Four People To Tag With the Lists
NeoTokyo
Fick
Those are the only two bloggers I know who might check this site regularly - so this is up for fair game as well.

Ah, Corporations. Bet you didn't know that I, of government and public policy fame (in my own head at least) adore business law. No really. After contracts, it seems the most logical, reasonable area of law out there. You know how I love me some statutes.

Corporations and business entities, securities law, all of this has statutes. It has articles. It has bylaws. It has regulations. God bless it, I just can't get enough. Which means, naturally, I can't get through a practice Corp essay to save my life. But but but, I think in my head. But nothing, meager bar taker, but nothing.

Answer the damn question. No one cares about the nuance here. No one wants your vast knowledge base of intricate securities cases.

I'm sure at the end of this exam I'll know even less about even more topics than ever before - having sacrificed what I really did know to make room for the potemkin village of knowledge that the examiners want to see.

Must repeat: this is only a test, this is only a test . . . .

Raise your hand if you're the pimp of California Water Policy.

Oh, wait, I'm sorry, what's that? Is that a blogger with her hand raised?

Why yes it is.

In a week with not much to celebrate you bet your sweet blog readin' booty that I'm gonna toot on the old horn after receiving an A in California Water Resources.

Who's the chair of that committee these days? Hiring? No? The girl can do more than transportation, it seems. Ha! I knew those repeated viewings of Chinatown would pay off someday. P.S. Capitol readers: my only other As in law school were (earned in Non-GPA classes, come to think of it, grr, but they were in) Advanced Legislative Process and Statutory Interpretation And Bill Drafting. Ha! And there were A minuses in Advanced Business Law and Remedies - which nicely illustrates the premium I place on knowing what to ask for and taking care of bidness.

In a legal education shockingly low on vowels, it's nice to get one in a class that I enjoyed, found useful, and one with a fantastic professor (who should've been made Dean, but that's another rant).

Of course, we might want to retain special trial co-counsel since with my B- in Cal Civ Pro, I may not be the best case driver (recall that Remedies grade though, I still know what you're entitled too, dammit). But C = JD baby. And Cal Civ Pro isn't even on the bar for another two years.

Hopefully I won't still be taking it by then.

Booyah. I'm not stupid. I'm not stupid!

[Breathe]

Sigh. Yeah, it's been a really long week already.

And for the last transcript anecdote of the day: Pause for a moment to relish the irony that those classes ditched in favor of John Kerry and West Virginia are marked with a long line . . . of Dubyas.

So even the California-specific subjects aren't really California specific.

By that I mean, the Multistate Bar Exam, or MBE, the 200 question tour de force administered in, uh, multiple states, test Contracts, Criminal Law, Evidence, Torts, Real Property, and . . . . and . . . littering and, littering and, littering and . . . Con Law! That's the 6th. Crap - just because it's the font from which all the other's spring, no reason to recall it immediately right.

Crap.

Anyway - so the MBE covers the 6 basic topic 90% of bar takers haven't looked at for 3 years. Additionally, California picks up another 6 or so topics depending on how you count with Criminal Procedure, Corporations, Remedies, Wills, Civil Procedure, and the always popular Malpractice Avoidance - excuse me - Professional Responsibility.

But here's the kicker - just because the subjects are California-specific doesn't mean they are California-specific.

Still with me?

Today, for example, the professor lectured on Civil Procedure. He pointed out that the exam does NOT cover California Civil Procedure, but rather covers general concepts and the FRCP, generally. And the same goes for the other subjects as far as I know. I'm guessing if Civ Pro isn't really state specific, the others don't look good either. Maybe Wills. But probably not.

This means that one could become licensed to practice law in California knowing next to nothing about - altogether now - California law.

A more specific example: in federal courts - and on the bar exam - plaintiffs are expected to conform to notice pleading requirements and guiding policies. Notice pleading is worlds away, however, from the California code pleading process that demands plaintiffs have, like, valid specific claims and crap. In the real world, most attorneys plead at the code level anyway, so it doesn't much matter. But why make a subject important enough to test in a state if you aren't actually going to include state law.

Ah - but wait - dear readers - the committee of bar examiners has decided that maybe the kids tomorrow should learn what the kids today have not. So you lucky future ducks get to cram California evidence, California Civil Procedure and, hell I don't know, some other crap into your heads along with the rest of it!

Fantastic.

Sorry, every so often I can't help meandering into Relevanceland.

" . . . distinctive detail . . . ."

Mmm, distinctive detail.
Distinctive
Distinctive cookies
Yeah, Pepperidge Farm
Milano
Milanos
Pizza
Mmm, pizza, definitely pizza.

After the utter failure that was our live Evidence lecturer, I spent part of last week playing catch-up with the night section again, watching Rossi's lecture on video. He was very funny and very Italian - an excellent combination if you ask me.

As with many of the BarBri lecturers, Rossi seemed as well suited for voice-overs as professing the law of Evidence. Somewhere, a casting agent is missing his perfect New Yorker.

At the start of his lecture, he reminded us that answering Bar questions isn't brain surgery. It's about as baseline as you can get. Just spit back what they want and get the hell out of the issue. You're writing for the ordinary intelligence cab driver.

Ding!

How could I have forgotten to share one of my best Bar study stories so far.

One misty, chilly Friday night, I left my night Real Property lecture to head for a girlfriend's place to have a Our Boyfriends Are Out Of Town And We're Too Tired To Go Out Slumber Party. She doesn't live far from the Cathedral, but it's uphilll and it was after 9 and it was misty and I am lazy. So when no bus came immediately into view, I stuck up my hand and hailed me a cab.

I fell ungracefully into the backseat, flopping my bulging bag of BarBri books next to me. The cab driver asked if I was a student and expressed surprise that I'd be leaving class so late on a Friday night. Yes, I replied, I was a student of sorts. Well, was a student, I explained, now studying for an exam.

He asked what kind of exam, I said the bar, and he said, oh, where did you go, so I said, Hastings, just down the street.

Then he told me he worked a firm - a really big, well-known firm - for 13 years or so as a proof reader. As background - this cabbie had a very think accent, Nigerian is my guess. Not that a spoken accent precludes a mastery of the adopted language - hell, it's no shock that American kids can't even speak Englsh and that the rest of the world can speak English and 5 other languages a piece.

Eventually we got to talking about undergraduate institutions and I said CMC and he said oh, conservative right? That he used to get a publication, very conservative. That'd be the Claremont Institute, I said, they weren't us.

Then we talked about how poorly lawyers write. Too verbose he said. Bombast and more bombast. Can't they just be terse? Get to it and get past it?

My thoughts exactly, I said.

And all of this in 6 blocks.

So when Rossi says ordinary intelligence cab driver, I guess that wasn't hyperbole or a slam on cabbies. It was really accurate.

In which I cop to what I hope is an easily solved and obvious misunderstanding of fundamental rules of civil procedure.

So I'm working on this practice essay, right, and one of the questions is whether a claim is barred by the statute of limitations. We're in federal court via diversity jurisdiction and the sample answer and BarBri issue notes first address the Erie question in the federal court's applicaiton of the state statute of limitations.

WTF?

I would never in a million years have started with that or even really brought it up at all? No more than I would mention that since they're in on diversity, they're in on a state issue as it says clearly in the facts. And yeah, I get that you're supposed to spell out ever fucking step in the process - no worries there - but Erie? How could there be a federal statute of limitations that would interfere with a claim based on a state breach of contracts action in federal court under diversity?

Sigh.

When you have a laptop with a spectacular screen, like I do, part of a day's fun can be selecting the appropriate desktop background to set the mood.

For the past few weeks, this photo has served quite well. It's a nice plate of steaming Brussel sprouts. No one likes 'em (except former Roomie B) but they're something you have to get through. So there you go. Fitting.


Of course, then you have a day like I had yesterday and you realize there are many more sprouts to get through than you'd originally thought. And so this photo becomes much more apt.

(Both photos by the unfairly excluded RN, the alfalfa of sprouts in my life.)

My rather cryptic post on Phoblog alluded to the Big Thing going down right now besides the bar.

Of course, there shouldn't be anything going on besides the bar, let alone big things, but I am not my professional license and the bar is not my life. And so it goes. The funny thing is, I had spent the whole of yesterday morning and early afternoon distracted by what were really groundless, foolish, idiotic distractions stemming from one of my primary extracurricular activities. My perspective was quickly set right by the day's ultimate event.

First - a quick background sketch in which I will prove the relevance of this post to preparing for the bar, which is of course the point of this blog:

Along with torts, contracts, legal writing, civ pro, and the rest, first year of law school is about learning how to balance like you've never balanced before. The swirling vortex of soul-suckage that is the 1L experience trips up previously balanced people and comforts the previously unhinged who find themselves with sudden company in their malady.

But balance you must. Friends, family, and if you’re lucky enough, a supportive, loving partner are vital to getting through and getting over law school. Same goes for the bar.

Yesterday was meant to be a happy reunion day for me as my boyfriend returned from the UK to get me across the finish line in February. He’s been gone since October and though I missed him greatly over the past 3 months, the missing was tempered by a definite end date. Make it to January 16. Welcome him home. Send him snowboarding. Beckon him back when I needed comfort. He pours coffee down my throat and tosses me sandwiches at lunch during the exam. I finish. We jet off for a nice vacation. Those were my plans for him anyway and it’s highly possible he had some of his own to which he was looking forward.

But yesterday actually turned out to be “cd sobs [you try keeping it together, dare you] her way around SFO day”, in which I futilely tried to speak with anyone from that darling among administrative agencies, INS (or whatever the fuck they’re called these days – ICE? Sounds about right to me) and stop the heartless bastards from refusing him entry into this great nation of ours.

I failed.

And back he went – public policy and reasonable application of the law be damned.

I’m sure at any given point he couldn’t have been more than a few hundred yards – if that – away from me. But I never even got to see him.

Now we get to self-administer a crash course in immigration law while figuring out if there’s anything to be done between now and when I was scheduled to cross the pond anyway.

But what kills here is that all that missing I had successfully managed for 3 months by busying myself with finals, holidays, and the looking forward to January 16.

Even as I am now totally aware and appreciative that there is another set end date to this separation, it seems unbearable and I am utterly lonely despite no appreciable change in my day to day life. In comes the phantom pain, in comes the full weight of majorly bummedouttitude that those accustomed to long distance relationships will understand all too well.

And those of you who know me know how much I just ADORE last minute changes in plans to begin with.

My point in posting this is only slightly about indulging in a bit of a pity party – at least this seems like better grounds for a pity party than a bar-centered pity party, which would just be gratuitous.

My point is to say that for anyone who worried, even briefly, that having the boy around would prove too tempting a distraction for me just as I should be really busting a bar move, I can say now to a certainty: your hearts were in the right place, even I was a little worried about myself from time to time, but we were each and every one of us wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

C’mon – no one should go through this alone. A thousand Hallmark Hall of Fame movies have impressed upon us the importance of love and having someone you care about and who cares about you around. Distraction schmistraction, people. This is just stupid. If you have a significant other and friends and family - for the love of god - purposefully avail yourselves of them. Don't cast them aside because you "have to study" blah blah. Take a break and enjoy their company. Exclude them now or worry them away and there's no guarantee they'll be there later.

I’ll get through it. Don’t send prozac cocktails or house-calling shrinks. It’s going to be alright, I know. But man, maybe I should’ve started the missing sooner so it didn’t all come crashing down now.

Bollocks.

So, during each lecture, I dutifully jot as many notes as possible - including the lecturer's predictions of which subjects are likely to be tested and how. Every lecturer, it seems, has conducted a thorough analysis of which issues where tested in what year on what part of the exam. It's exhausing to think about.

So the question really becomes: why bother? Though one would think it impossible for Murphy's Law to apply simultaneous to each and every bar exam taker this February, that's still the one law we all know for sure will be fully enforced during those 3 days. The one issue you go to bed praying won't show up is bound to be either Essay 1 or Essay 6. The one corner of the big outline you never even skimmed will be intricately woven into a Real Property exam where you are also tasked with composing a living trust or some such crap.

So really, I'm think it's better if we don't run through the black letter law saying "but this hasn't been seen since Winter 1982" because I just don't need the baggage.

Why post your favorite quote on one blog when you can post it on three. So here's the hat trick.

"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."

-Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Ah, we love the clever little law-related films. Like this one based on by now, well-known anecdotal evidence on the state of PC-ness, litigation, and young America and some campus policy at some school somewhere sometime ago. And just in case you didn't get the message, the final screen says "romance deserves better than this."

Yeah, it does.

But we like your movie anyway.

H/T to you and you. Though, really, for you it's a tip of a beenie with a propeller on top because it's not "way too funny." Wait, damn. Same hat to you for the same violation.

So, you're saying 5 or 6 out of 17 practice MBEs is a bad score, right?

Hrumph.

Survey: Some Americans OK With Being Fat

Oh really? So shorter life spans are in, eh?

And how is this post relevant to the bar, you ask. Duh. Ask any law student the worst thing about the bar aside from the bar and the answer - at least among the women types - is the weight gain. Studying is bad for one's waistline. It doesn't have to be bad. In fact, it's smart to mitigate stress with daily workouts.

But I'll admit my first reaction to reading this article's title was "thank goodness, because things for me aren't looking good."

But the more substantive points are decidedly more good news/bad news.

Good news: discrimination and ostricization of large folks is diminishing. Good. Making fun of people is wrong, in case you missed that day in Kindergarten.

Bad news: on of the reasons is that we're all getting fatter.

And therein lies the problem.

Teaching people that mocking is usually hurtful and misguided is good. Allowing people to treat their body weight with complacency or even acceptance when it reaches unhealthy levels is not.

One woman associated with the "National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance" says she won't use the word "overweight" because it is judgmental.

Bullshit.

Does our culture frequently call overweight that which is not overweight. Yes. And that is a highly important point because many people with a less-bony appearance are very fit despite having curvy shapes. But, are people in fact overweight - yeah, some are.

Like me.

Like especially me circa 2001. Less so now, but there's been some backside back slide over the past year (fucking law school). I am neither happy about, nor accepting of my physical shortcomings because I now know, for a certainty, that I can do better. And so can a lot of people out there waiving the idiotic "fat chicks rule" banner.

I'm not less of a person when there's more of me. But I am, objectively, less healthy than I could otherwise be - and no one should be proud of poor health.

So zip the lips, people. And while there are legitimate genetic concerns and impediments to some people's quest for a better BMI, most of us are just stuck in a poor portion control hell of our own making.

Some Americans may be okay with being fat. But most shouldn't be.

. . . she said right before attacking the second half of her carne asada super burrito.

The two guys who sit in front of me might be gunners. I say maybe because I'm not sure if they're gunners or just scared like the rest of us.

Today's conversation revolved - per usual - around the virtues of various practice questions. PMBR MBEs vs. BarBri MBEs. In Celebrity Death Match terms, it's circa late 90s Britney vs. circa late 90s Christina.

Look kids, both systems are crap, but they're the best we can hope for. PMBR is probably the greater rip off. But each program will force you to suffer through a fair amount of "why we're the shizznet" too often during the course of instruction. Look - you bastards - you have my money and I'm in the class, so knock-off the hard sell, okay?

So back to the overheard conversation: Guy1 says to Guy2 that he was working on PMBR MBEs and came across three or four questions that covered stuff that Chemerisnky definitely - definitely didn't mention. Definitely.

Let's review the passage rates and requirements. Passing MBE scores are somewhere in the 130 to 145 range. The MBE tests, what, six subject areas? Which means that you could get about 10 questions per subject area completely wrong and still pass. Not the goal to set, but still. If you don't know 3 questions, you don't know 3 questions. This test is really soon and sweating the small stuff does not seem like the healthiest, most-effective strategy.

Talking with one of my new-attorney friends on Sunday, I heard that one of our other girlfriends was routinely reduced to tears while studying this past summer. Tearful Tess still passed the bar - but man, I've done the crying thing over an exam or two, but just here and there - not for a whole summer. How excruciating.

This crap has made me angry so far, but it has yet to make me weep. Oh, there will be at least one day, I'm sure. Not that I'm a crier generally, dammit.

Everyone faces immense stress in her own way. Guy1 and Guy2 apparently face it by parsing every, single, blessed MBE and essay they tackle. I face it by blogging, denial, and focusing my energy arguing passive-aggressively with my mother about the value of having a dependable partner around for the most meaningless, important five and a half (sweet holy mother of god) weeks of this phase of my life.

What the hell is my point here? I think I should be more afraid right now and I'm not. Which brings to mind yet another non-sequitur of an anecdote:

During my last semester of high school I was generally done with class by 10 or so in the morning (the rest of my schedule being comprised of college classes which were as optional in high school as they were in college). Accordingly, I'd beg my Dad to pick me up from school so I didn't have to cool my jets and take the bus after school, which wouldn't have delivered me home until 5 or so.

One day on the way home, while discussing the Big College Question, my Dad asked me what I would do if I didn't get in. The implied question was what would I do if I didn't get into the school or schools I most wanted (which at that point were unknown, though all the apps - all 13 of them - were in).

I blinked at him.

I blinked some more.

What do you mean? I asked.

Please understand, it wasn't that I thought I was such hot shit I would automatically be accepted everywhere I applied, I just wasn't considering rejection. It wasn't not-an-option, it just didn't exist. Not on the radar. The denominator equaled zero. It just wasn't.

Don't infer from this either that I think that failure isn't a possible outcome of this experience - I know it's there, looming, shadowing everything. But I'm wondering if going collegiate on this crap isn't the healthier thing to do. Not to the point of overconfidence, but to the point of preserving my sanity, maximizing productivity, and reminding myself that I am not my legal education.

Oddly enough, a friend had just given me his book to read, when I happened upon a Chron story linking to The Smoking Gun's expose on A Million Little Pieces author James Frey.

How spectacular, then, that the story and the saw-it-coming Big Scary Memo from Frey's attorneys, presents a fantastic example of how not to tackle torts questions on the bar. I mean, just check out this page - and the rest of the memo for that matter.

I didn't know it was okay to repeat the same sentence over and over again in a memo - like the linked page's penultimate paragraph. Had I known, I could've saved my summer employer and clients a lot of money.

Oh wait, that's right, we valued good law and thorough research.

And for another fun example of what we in the biz like to call "filler," check out the second full graf that deduces an actionable offense based on law from a jurisdiction some 1500 or so miles from the one in which the alleged wrong would've taken place.

And proof that the Plain English movement has utterly failed in American law schools, this sentence: " . . . my client is prepared to endeavor to provide you with contact information for third party witnesses who may be able to corroborate the facts with respect to specific matters."

Gesundheit

Obfuscate much?

Personally, I'd have loved to have been a fly-on-the-wall in that client interview. Anytime you actually have to use to word "hypothetically" in a memo, it's time to reassess your client's chances.

Wait, wait - in a bold, 1L-ish bit of scary lawyering, this gem appears on page 5:

It is our position that if you publish statements accusing my client of being a liar or a fraud, as you indicated you intend to do, then you will be publishing an article with malice, and will be reckless in your publication of the article.

Aww, that's so cute.

And it's my position that if your client had anything to back his shit up, this memo would be, like, totally better.

So, okay, it's times like these when I almost, sorta am glad that I got this nifty second language because I can tell what complete and utter bullshit sentences like these are:

We arewell aware that Smoking Gun frequently elects to snidley disregard [ed's note: that's "to disregard snidely" you infinitive splitting bastards! And if I did so here, then not the lack of letter head or Bar number] the content of letters from our firm, instead posting them on the website notwithstanding their designation as confidential legal communications and notwithstanding the legal arguments set forth in the correspondence.

Um, see, now, the way I learned about privileged communications would lead me to believe that your assertion here is - um - laughable.

No wonder people hate and fear attorneys. If you don't speak their language, they can be a pretty scary group with all their "maliciously" this and "snidely" that. [must . . . resist . . . Snidely Whiplash joke . . . .]

Hey - never saw this coming: to back up their "don't you dare reprint this" threat - knowing full well that the supposed resulting breach of confidence is a pile of poo, they SLAP A COPYRIGHT on the end of the letter and say publication or dissemination violates the Copyright Act.

Okay, even I have no idea whether that works, but judging by the legal weight of the other 5 pages, I'm going to go out on a limb here with an answer of "not much."

Me? I'm just using it as a learning tool.

Okay, cheesiest post title ever. Sorry.

Despite another name being listed in our materials, I was pleased to show up to today's BarBri torts lecture to find my first year tort's professor at the lecturn.

It was oddly, uncomfortably nostalgic. Torts was my first class during my first year and is often assumed to be the proto-law class. Negligence, Battery, Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress - all the greats.

Torts is one of the simpler subjects to retain because - at least for the intentional torts - the elements are either there or they aren't. The MBE questions then become the classic exercise in "what am I thinking"-ness that makes me question my sanity or the wisdom of pursuing this exam at all. With the 5000 or so practice questions I have at my disposal, I'll learn to identify the patterns and the formats. But don't any of you ever confuse that with actual knowledge, understanding, or practical applicability. Stop Thinking. Remember?

After class I walked down to Hastings to grab a quick bite and study until a coffee meeting with one of the school's administrators. While sitting on the beach, I saw my 1L torts prof and lecturer greeting the other 1L torts professor. Had it been a movie, I think the following would've occured. Diamond would've battered Jung, Jung would've assaulted Diamond in return, but only because he was trying to batter him, but missed - and the intent tranfered. Diamonds wife would've walked up and Jung, knowing that it was Diamond's wife, would've continued his extreme and outrageous behavior, intending to - and succeeding in - causing her emotional distress. At the same time, one of our friendly T-loin residents would've run up, snatched Diamond's cell phone from his pocket and jumped up and down on it, trashed it, and Diamond runs after him screaming "you've trespassed my chattel!" Meanwhile, Jung, so angered by all that has transpired, throws his textbooks over the beach wall and into traffic where they negligently cause a 5 car pile-up.

And because all these statements could be factually true or untrue, I'm defaming them by reporting as much.

Bring it, bar exam.

And in Sex And The City news

When Carrie is called for jury duty, she spends part of her time amusing herself by observing a fellow prospective juror pull increasingly impractical fruits from his briefcase. One day, a pineapple - one day, a coconut.

In my BarBri class, there's an attorney-applicant who constantly answers rhetorical lecturer questions and brings with him a briefcase full of little oranges. Cuties, I believe.

I bring snacks too - but a briefcase full or oranges just seems . . . . I dunno, weird?

Police defuse bomb at Starbucks on Van Ness

Wow, good thing I bought that trusty thermos that gets me through the day.

I was within about 3 blocks of this Starbucks at around 12:30 today. Guess I missed all the action.

I know people hate - "hate" - the 'bucks, calling it the Mickey Ds of coffee. But I like Mickey Ds, so screw 'em. There's something in the Chai that makes ya crrrave it fortnightly.

In a bold move designed to protect better the profession and clients, the California State Bar Board of Governors has voted to raise the passing MPRE score from 79 to 86.

Those who have taken or have any familiarity with the exam understand why such should fail to impress anyone.

Our new passing score takes us from among the lowest states to among the highest, like Utah.

And in a true WTF - no, let's spell it out here - What The Fuck moment, check out this reason why the passing score wasn't raised to 100:

The committee asked the board in 2004 to boost the required passing score to 100, but the board opted to send the proposal back to committee. Opponents to the higher score said it could hurt minority students, force all students to focus on the minutiae of rules and would do nothing to build character or produce better lawyers.

What in the fucking hell does being a minority student have to do with passing the MPRE. Almost all law schools have the same trumped up ethics class requirement for the same trumped up reasons as the MPRE requirement. Mine - and many others - taught directly to the test. So what the fuck does being a minority student have to do with it?

We're just that much more ethically challeneged?

They should've stuck with the "minutiae" argument - that makes complete sense. As does the reasoning of the Phubar Hero Of The Week, the lone nay vote on the increase:

The committee suggested that a higher score “will require that all who seek admission in California have an increased knowledge of the rules that govern their professional activities, and it seems reasonable to expect that the increased knowledge level

. . . will ultimately increase the protection of consumers of legal services in California.”

Dorothy Tucker, a public board member from Los Angeles, cast the lone opposing vote because she said the committee did not present a compelling argument to make a change. “It looked like window-dressing to me,” she said.

See, now THAT makes sense.

You know who benefits by the MPRE? Malpractice insurance companies, since the MPRE tests your knowledge of just how unethical you can be before you've wandered into malpractice territory. To get the questions on the test right, I literally stopped myself and ran through a "what would a rule-bending bastard do" test.

People of California beware: your lawyers won't be better, they'll just be even more bitter.

We are all sheep. Or we're supposed to be for purposes of the bar exam. It's just a continuation of the lowered expectations theme. We're not going for greatness here, kids. Yeah, yeah, those GPAs were important in law school. And college. And high school. And junior high. And elementary school. But no more, my friends. A slate of technically failing grades guarantees your admission to the California State Bar. So be sheep. Be like these guys, from a long-ago computer desktop toy I used to love in college called esheep:


I think esheep is my Bar Mascot.

Speaking of old-school allusions

As part of my on-going quest to boil this process down to its virtue - its single, most perfect allusion - the one image that will explain what we do all day to those fortunate enough to escape law school and its attendant horrors.

My latest thought is that preparing for the exam is like that old improv class exercise that requires rapt attention and, paradoxically, complete surrender to a repetitive task. I don't know if it has a proper name, but it involves standing in a circle with at least 10 of your friends and peers as various objects are introduced. "This is a rock," says the introducer, "A what?" answers the receiver," "A rock," "A what?" "A rock," "Oh, a rock!" And the receiver becomes the guy to introduce the object to the next person, while receiving the next object from the guy who first introduced the rock in the first place. Eventually, everyone in the group is introducing and receiving objects - taking them and passing them on - while the group is "this is a X" "A what?" "A X" in unison. When you're in the groove, it's a beautiful thing. But getting there - and staying there - is beyond tricky.

And so it goes with BarBri.

This is a contract?
A What?
A Contract.
A What?
A Contract.
Oh, a contract.

And every day, another subject tossed into the mix while you're facing toward the previous days and are keenly aware of what's coming next. Dizzying and oddly satisfying, the process of becoming the right balance of zombie and legal eagle runs against everything I've worked for in the past. I wonder if it would be a more comfortable process if the future weren't such a complete question mark.

And speaking of the kid who . . . .

One very real Bar exam danger is applying anything other than carefully memorized black-letter law to questions. Never apply, for example, knowledge. Nor should experience be applied. And while your at it, you might want to lay off reason as well.

Test takers routinely nose-dive on the subjects they know best. This might explain why the two lowest-scoring subjects on the exam are Contracts and Con Law. Or maybe people just don't get them - who knows. Con Law I buy - because that crap is just made up anyway. But Ks are just so simple, so poetic, so contract-y. But I digress.

In prefacing our next graded assignment, the performance test lecturer pep-talked us by reminding us not to stress out because the task involved re-drafting legislation, and did any of us learn to redraft legislation in law school?

Um . . . well, technically speaking, I actually di- oh, right, sorry, starting thinking there again for a second. Damn - seems like even when I would be advantaged, I'm not.

And About That Graded Assignment

Yesterday's schedule was simply mad. Class in the morning until 12:30 or so. A performance test that would eat up 3 hours. And then night class that would chomp up the rest of Saturday. Factor in the transit time and a quick trip to the gym and there was no way the space-time continuum would support the day's plans.

So I raced home, raced to the gym, raced at the gym, raced through a shower, and raced through the peformance exam before racing back to St. Mary's.

Just in time to learn that the evening class doesn't meet in the evenings on Saturdays.

And really, why would it?

Guess I've taken that whole "stop thinking" lesson to heart better than I'd thought.

So I short shrifted the performace test - a task I should've aced - all so I could spend 3 hours - THREE HOURS - going too and from someting that never happened anyway. I'll save the I-Hate-Muni rant for another blog. Who knows what kind of feedback I'll get - but I wish I had done a better job with the practice exam since we only have a few shots at formal feedback.

I need to remain calm though. Repeat the mantra: Be sure to drink your ovaltine. Be sure to drink your ovaltine. Be sure to drink your ovaltine.

And speaking of feedback

There are two other Hastings almost-alums in BarBri with me. We don't usually sit together which leaves me time to overhear things. I don't consider it eavesdropping. I consider it journalistic observation - and all for your benefit, dear readers. All two of you.

A day or so after the last graded assignment, a couple of guys in front of me were discussing their results. It went something like this:

I mean, they wouldn't grade us really high on this first exam.
Right, otherwise, why would we come back?
Yeah, totally, right?
Yeah.
I heard they are just really hard-assed on all the assignments, which is probably good if you think about it.
Yeah.
Yeah.

Hmm, I thought. I did okay. Which means the fall is coming, I know. And overconfidence is just as bad as under-preparedness. Though a bit of confidence does help stress management. I know Amber had quite a bit to say about Bar prep generally, BarBri, and the graded assignments. She passed. But that girl is a pistol. Whip-smart and with a wit to match. She hated Chemerinsky's corny jokes though. She also had a much harder time letting go of thinking.

It's come amazingly easily to me.

That might not be something to admit, huh.

This week featured the first 2 of 4 sessions on the performance tests. For those unfamiliar with the California Bar Exam, the afternoons of the first and third days of the exam are comprised of performance tests.

Sounds impressive, doesn'it? Real world, cutting edge, practical, useful, accurate, etc, etc.

But really, it's just another essay - a really long essay, but it's just another essay. We'll be given a set of documents - a file and a library. Some made-up client documents and some made-up cases and laws. Apply law to fact - as one would hope you've been doing all day - and presto - you have a 90 minute essay instead of the morning's 60 minute ones.

In another "be sure to drink your ovaltine" moment, the sage advice offered during the performance test sessions boils down to: hey morons, read the damn directions.

To be fair, from what I've heard, reading the directions comes to mind only after you get done saying "ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit" - and that reaction ends sometime in March.

The lecturer devoted about half our total time together to relaying various horror stories of the "then there was this one kid who" variety. Exam takers who give birth, pass kidney stones, take too many sleeping pills, have food poisoning, mistakenly answer the question in farsi but write their headings in English - they all pass. It reminded me of the film How I Got Into College - an underrated, but not that great film about . . . you can figure it out. There's a few good "then there was this kid who" jokes that came to mind during the lecturer's litany of test taking tragedies.

All of the stories related to contingency plans. What if the elevators in the hotel fail? What are you going to do about breakfast? Lunch? What about the kid next to you in the exam who dry-heaves through the first two essays? No, it really happened!

Oy.

Thank, uh, God that this subject and fact pattern aren't likely to appear on the bar:

An Italian court is tackling Jesus -- and whether the Roman Catholic Church may be breaking the law by teaching that he existed 2,000 years ago.

The case pits against each other two men in their 70s, who are from the same central Italian town and even went to the same seminary school in their teenage years.

The defendant, Enrico Righi, went on to become a priest writing for the parish newspaper. The plaintiff, Luigi Cascioli, became a vocal atheist who, after years of legal wrangling, is set to get his day in court later this month.

"I started this lawsuit because I wanted to deal the final blow against the Church, the bearer of obscurantism and regression," Cascioli told Reuters.

Cascioli says Righi, and by extension the whole Church, broke two Italian laws. The first is "Abuso di Credulita Popolare" (Abuse of Popular Belief) meant to protect people against being swindled or conned. The second crime, he says, is "Sostituzione di Persona," or impersonation. . . .

"In my book, 'The Fable of Christ,' I present proof Jesus did not exist as a historic figure. He must now refute this by showing proof of Christ's existence," Cascioli said.

Um, yeah. But remember that whole babelfish thing with the not-needing-proof and the fish being proof and the god disappearing in a poof of logic? Be careful, Italian court. And bringing this case in a Roman Catholic country? Roman Catholic?

Talk about an inconvenient forum.

Dear Professor Chemerinsky,

I hope this doesn't come off as forward, but I think you should know, I have a bit of a crush after today's 8 hour Con Law odyssey. I bet your cunning legal mind arranged to have the Evidence lecturer blow so that we'd appreciate your succinct, graceful summation of all of constitutional law - and boy, did it work.

I'd heard from my friends about your freakishly precise recitation - nearly verbatim - of the 49 page outline you provided us. Everything except your puns, right there on the page for our benefit. And, oh, the puns. Like when you said that Congress could use whatever means necessary to raise an army and navy - including a bake sale if they saw fit. A bake sale to raise the dough, a joke you thought we'd get a rise out of? And you hated to leave the subject while you were on a roll. It was poetry.

And your spelling bee joke about George Bush being the only person out of himself, Clarence Thomas, and Bill Clinton to spell harass correctly because he was the only person to know it wasn't two words. That's coming out at the next cocktail party, I assure you. Okay, after a few drinks at the next cocktail party, but still.

Even your politically themed jokes should be used to instruct law professors how current political issues can be incorporated into classroom discussions without offending minority political view-holders. Like pointing out that the Connecticut eminent domain changed absolutely no substantive law whatsoever, contrary to what Fox News viewers might think - see, now, that's funny.

So thank you for renewing my faith in BarBri until at least tomorrow at 6 when I have to listen to a Real Property lecture.

Yours truly,
-cd

But seriously

I meant all of that - he was great. I'd heard he was great, and he was. The day flew by, despite lasting from 9 to 5. He peppered his swift review of 200+ years of constitutional jurisprudence with all manner of really, really bad puns - which I adore.

Some things were disconcerting, but not because of his performance. Those things were:

• I'll probably die unable to spell certiorari without looking it up; unable to remember that the word "interlocutory" exist or how/when to use it; and continually in shock that it's "peremptory" and not "preemptory." At least I'm careful about "parol" and "parole."
• Presidents cannot pardon anyone for that for which they are impeached - so Clinton can't be pardoned. Can anyone remember exactly what it was for which he was impeached? No, for what he realllllly was impeached?
• The political question doctrine should just be renamed the punt doctrine. It's one, big, steaming pile of jurisprudential poo.
• When is kiddie porn not obscene? Like when would it fail the obscenity test if it really was child pornography?

And non-disconcerting - all the stuff on voting rights and at-large districts, etc. Ding!

And today's random observations:

• My new thermos rocks. It's from Starbucks, it's pretty, it kept my tea hot all morning, and I love it.
• Our BarBri classes are held at St. Mary's Cathedral - or as it is referred to by many, St. Maytag for its resemblance to the inside of a washing machine. I actually kind of like it. It's an awesomely impressive church. Very, very modern, but seldom have I felt so physically imposed upon by a structure. Inside, it just weighs on you. But not in a bad way. I've been in class too long to explain this tonight, so you'll have to trust me. Of course, our classes aren't held IN the sanctuary, but rather in the conference center downstairs. In the lint trap, I suppose. The room is pleasingly painted a calming coral color, with accents in the corners and odd little murals on the side walls. At the front is a large frieze (can a frieze be vertical? maybe it's just an art thingy, but it's 2-dimentional) of St. Francis of Assisi and a bunch of his little animal friends. He's the patron saint of animals, the environment, etc (and apparently justice and peace - though I think they might all cover that). Though it makes absolutely no sense, or maybe it does, it makes me feel better to take BarBri classes under a Catholic church. Like somehow there should be some kind of Catholic edge. No - I don't think the Bar, nor God, discriminates against non-Catholics. At least not in life, but all you sinners are going to hell. JUST KIDDING. Jesus, take a joke already.

After it is fully resolved, I'll be ranting a rant to end all rants about UC Hastings College of Law. The beef there was the subject of the Bad Phone Coversation. I'm delaying its discussion for lack of ripeness.

In the meantime, let's focus on the good news because I need to do a little iddy-biddy celebration over my first graded assignment feedback. First off - very, very impressive that the essay I submitted around 6pm on Monday was returned by 11:30am on Wednesday. They said to expect 7-10 business days. Way to go, BarBri.

Here's their explanation of the graded essay scoring - for the benefit of those looking ahead to BarBri and the Bar generally:

Bar/Bri grades your essays on a Pass/Fail basis. While you do receive individual numbered scores on each essay from the State Board of examiners, it is your overall performance on the exam that will determine whether or not you are successful. We have found after many years of preparing students for the CA Bar exam that the most beneficial aid to a student is guidance as to what area they need to improve upon in order to be successful on the exam. Therefore, we have implemented a grading process that will allow students to focus upon their area of weakness. Each exam that you submit for grading will have a ranking for each of the following areas:

Issue Spotting (I)
Rules (R)
Analysis (A)
Organization/Format (O/F)
For each area you will receive a ranking of Above Average, Passing or Failing.

A final grade of Pass or Fail will be assessed to your answer with a summary to explain the score. A Pass answer equates to a 65 or higher and a Fail answer equates to a 60 or lower.

I wasn't sure exactly what the feedback would look like. I submitted my contracts essay by email - plain text, in the body of the email. The response email consisted of the grader's comments in ALL CAPS after key grafs of my essay and this wrap up at the end:

I- Passing
R-Above average
A-Passing
O/F-Passing

Score: Passing

Your answer has good issue recognition, rule statements and analysis. However, you need to be sure that you stay organized throughout your answer. You needed to provide separate headings for the defenses (impracticablity and impossibiliy and for compensatory damages (Consequential and Expectation). You have a heading for most of the issues, yet you also need to separate your rule,analysis and conclusion into separate paragraphs so that it is easy for the grader to follow.

Okay, so, that's mostly good news. I have heard that section headings are key to maximizing points, so that is definitely something to which I should pay close attention. And I knew when I was writing it that I was fumbling my damages discussion a bit. It's less that I have a problem with the concepts than I do with relaying them Bar-style using the magic catch phrases and ordering that get you through the exam on the first go.

Of course, this first graded assignment focused solely on Contracts - a subject I've always loved for its logic, simplicity, clearly delineated rules, and elegance - attributes absent from every other subject as far as I'm concerned.

The feedback was a good confidence booster not just for the "passing" score, but for confirming that I am, in fact, good at contracts. The task now is less "getting it" than it is "memorizing it." And with flashcards, all things are possible.

Like straight up walking out of class at the break because it's clear that it isn't worth your time to hang around any longer.

Today was the first of two evidence lectures. Since I just finished taking the class and feel slightly-less-really-clueless about the subject, I was nearly looking forward to attending (and really, going to lectures isn't so bad because while I'm there, I'm not at home not-studying and feeling guilty that I'm not studying). And of course, I basically look forward to everything that isn't real property.

But after the first hour I was wondering if I'd failed evidence in law school because nothing the dude was saying really made any sense whatsoever. Or, if it did, it made sense only in the most roundabout way - in a way closer to law school and further from the cut and dry, here's what you need to know manner BarBri claims to provide. The guy started his lecture by saying that evidence is really the easiest, most straight foward subject on the whole exam - so right away, I should've known there was a problem. Then he started using one of last summer's essay questions as an example. That's a great strategy, except that he didn't make copies and the question wasn't in our materials so following along was practically impossible. At one point I just tuned out and started humming this song for review.

By our second break, I had pretty much settled that I'd gone 'round the bend when, to my great comfort, the ladies room was atwitter with the same sentiment from most of the other students. By the end of the second break, the class size decreased by about half - if not two-thirds. I bailed right along with them, confident that between the provided outlines, outlines from school, and the ability to sit in on the evening lecture (pre-recorded by another lecturer), I'd have evidence covered.

Not that such cover exuses BarBri from what was a bad hiring decision on their part. I feel like I'm owed some money back or lunch or just a promise that this guy won't be inflicted on subsequent generations. Between the rain and the Muni's holiday operating schedule, the time savings was negligable today, but since dude continues his subpar performance tomorrow, there's another full day of independent study. It bites having to add more two-a-day days in the coming weeks, however, since the end of this week will be comprised of regular lectures in the morning and (dum da dum dum) real property catch up in the evening. Friday and Saturday I'll be in class from 9am to 10pm with an inconveniently timed break in the middle of the day. It's probably a safe bet that Friday and Saturday I'll also be in bad mood.

Get it together, BarBri.

I tried to find an audio clip of the theme song from a MadTV sketch my Dad and I have loved for years, but to no avail. If I could find it and if I didn't think it would be awful to have it play automatically whenever anyone navigates to this site, it would be the Phubar Pheme Tune because it captures the BarBri guiding principle: You're not trying to set any records here, kids, just pass the damn test.

C = J.D. indeed.

During PMBR we were told repeatedly that scoring between 20 and 25 out of 50 on the daily practice MBE tests was an admirable performance since the class came prior to our review of substantive law (presumably forth-coming in BarBri classes). If I hit the 40% mark, then, it was a great night.

Tonight I ran through 77 practice contracts questions and scored a 68%. I was elated.

Sixty-eight percent!

If you went back in time and told my elementary school self that one day she'd be thrilled with such a test score she would never believe you. I can't really complain with a straight face though, since I've been living under this guiding principle since August or so.

Lowered Expectaaatiooonnnsss . . . .

P.S. Speaking of random television allusions, I couldn't help but think today while microwaving dinner that my microwave's "I'm finished" beep sounds like Anne's trademark squawk.

I can't help but hear most BarBri instruction with the same disillusioned sorrow with which Ralphie deciphers little Orphan Annie's secret message to find a cynical advertisement.

In Friday's BarBri Essay Writing Workshop, the lecturer, a USF professor, opened with about an hour's worth of pep talk. Generally speaking, I'd rather everyone ditch the pep talk and get on with the substantive law or strategic advice. Friday, however, was my first San Francisco BarBri session.

Though I spent a week in LA attending both PMBR and BarBri classes, the out-of-context classes and holiday distractions kept the looming reality of the bar exam at bay. And, I suppose, in a strange way, I'd grown comfortable with the regular cast of faces sitting around me in the Los Angeles classrooms. I'd only ever spoken to one person in the LA classes - but the same faces appeared in west LA and Samo and everyone settled into unofficial seats. Walking into the Cathedral conference center where the San Francisco classes are held, my first concern was that I'd sit in a seat already adversely possessed by someone else. My second concern would be that everyone had magically become best friends in the 2 weeks of classes so far. The sole bright spot was recognizing a fellow late blooming Section 2 girl across the room.

So I did need the pep talk at least a little.

During the speech, the lecturer offered the shortest, best advice on dealing with the most likely baggage carried by the types of people taking BarBri classes. "Let go of law school," he said. If you were the best or the worst student there, let it go because your law school performance doesn't matter for shit (I'm paraphrasing here).

It's not that I didn't know this already. But I took more comfort in the grander implication of "letting go of law school." Lord knows I'm one bitter Betty when it comes to my law school experience. Much of my anger is well founded and more law students should be demanding more from their education. But I cling to some of the bitterness like Linus clutches his blanket. And since, as I've mentioned before and will likely mention again, the resemblance between law school and the bar is purely coincidental, hauling that law school luggage into the exam would be counterproductive.

But it sucks, doesn't it? The confirmation that, though required by law, law school really is just a set of hoops through which we jump. Valuable lessons are learned along the way, but only some of them are taught in the classroom, and 3 years is overkill. So while letting it all go is vital, hearing how inconsequential law school is to this biggest hoop offends me.

And we're still leaving aside the disconnect between the bar and practice which I hypothesize will become even more clear as this process continues. Suffice to say at this point: most everything associated with the bar (as with many iterations of closed-book law school exams) if attempted in practice would constitute malpractice. Professional responsibility (also tested on the exam) frowns on doing things without a net.

So I'll work on letting go of law school because it is the healthy thing to do right now even while it is unfair to have to do so.

I never took trigonometry. I learned trig, but never took a class called trigonometry because my high school used an experimental method for teaching mathematics called IMP - the integrated mathematics program. The main characters in the lengthy narrative problems were invariably named Al and Betty and they were always "at it" or "at it again" on a carpet.

We felt a bit disadvantaged at the time, but it was just another staple of our integration-happy high school. We were tormented with inter-disciplinary projects spanning all our core classes. Math problems that required sonnet answers, that kind of thing. The idea was that in the real world, you'd have to - at minimum - explain yourself in effectively and good grammar is always a