While JP, Ant, Clarince T and AKen (who's currently being held captive by NAMBLA) enjoyed this blog quite a bit as bright-eyed, bushy-tailed 2Ls and even into 3L year a bit, I think I speak for all of us when I say that this blog's theme is too nice for anything we'd want to write about, well, anything these days.
So, while we're all making choices between spending 90 hours a week doing someone else's paperwork, spending 40 hours a week doing someone else's paperwork and living out of our cars, or trying to use our advocacy skills to get them to serve some better shit at the soup kitchen, I'm going to try to occasionally post over at Blawgering. This should both satiate my intense ego that needs to have people reading the inane cuckoldry that spouts out of my fingers and relieve those same fingers from the doldrums of Lawyering Skillz.
See, it's a win-win situation for me.
Tuesday
Monday
Boo
There haven't been any posts here forever because all of the sudden us law students became responsible for the information that previously seemed silly to bother to learn. Hopefully next semester we'll get off to another start.
Take it sleazy.
Take it sleazy.
Wednesday
The Allure of Harry Potter and The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock: On Self-Execution
Magic. It’s what happens when we utter some words, think in a certain way, and “it” does what we want for us.
As everyone has experienced far too many times, it’s pretty hard to do everything we’d like to do. Social situations are often frought with the necessity of preserving several different rapports simultaneously; if offered the chance to talk to any of these four people individually, I’m sure I could construct a reasonable response to that question. Even when dealing with one person (most prominently, and the focus of the titular poem, the current subject of our more primal desires) it’s pretty tough to really say what you mean to say.
But it isn’t like your inability to immediately correctly deal with that question is a sign of a flaw in your conceptual scheme: You got flummoxed for hormonal and reptilian reasons, among others, totally independent of the validity of how you like to live your life. If only we could walk around as representations of our inner selves that people could see and understand without our having to execute them. A manifestation of our algorithm; our painting; the sculpture of what we can be.
At some level, that’s what the magic is in the Harry Potter books. Hermione is tragically undergifted, so, although she knows the precise methodology behind the execution, there’s an inherent power missing from what comes out. Longbottom’s magic emulates his being too: More times then not, the way he’s trying to represent himself comes out awkwardly and differently from what was intended. Harry, the golden boy, doesn’t necessarily grasp every concept at first coup, but, when he does, the results emanate the strength that can only be given. Because the “inner” is outwardly visible, the representations are capable of interpretive empirical evaluation themselves. The only defense to mistake is faulty effort.
Pondering magic led me, perhaps invariably, to Eliot, and his lamentations in The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. One of the most popular poems of the 20th century (and, anecdotally, extremely popular among English majors at my undergraduate institution), Prufrock strums on our heartstrings by putting us in the eyes of a “paralyzed” protagonist. Al cannot do anything because it might be incorrect. It’s hard enough to be cool when you’re worried that the surrounding people might think you’re a stout short of a sixer, but Prufrock’s even worried that, as an awkward fellow, he’ll do things that not even he himself would approve of.
He just wants there to be something he can show: “It is impossible to say just what I mean! / But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen…” He’s done a lot of stuff, has a lot to tell, gathered up a lot of “butt-ends of my days and ways” that people want him to “spit out.” What more does he have to do to get the girl to stop being coy and like him?
He has to do it. Harry is like a Prufrock that gets his nerves in patterns on a screen whenever he casts a spell: Everyone’s always like “Holy shit Harry, you’re the bomb, I can’t believe the inner you was able to do such a thing!”
And thus the modern notion of confidence observed by Eliot and finessed by Rowling: People admire the way you do something because it tells them, well, that the people you’ve done this to before must have liked it well enough to respond in a way that encouraged you to do it again. And that’s generally true: We can all remember a few moments in our life where we got seriously called out for something to the point where it makes you nauseas to think about doing it again for fear of the same severe reprimand.
Instead of that being a flaw in execution, though, it could be an adorable dimple on the observable manifestation of yourself; A missing antler on Harry’s Patronus. Something on you, instead of something about you. How you’re showing yourself is only a part of it, of course, until you try to figure out what the hell is going on with the person next to you.
You should just cast a spell on them.
As everyone has experienced far too many times, it’s pretty hard to do everything we’d like to do. Social situations are often frought with the necessity of preserving several different rapports simultaneously; if offered the chance to talk to any of these four people individually, I’m sure I could construct a reasonable response to that question. Even when dealing with one person (most prominently, and the focus of the titular poem, the current subject of our more primal desires) it’s pretty tough to really say what you mean to say.
But it isn’t like your inability to immediately correctly deal with that question is a sign of a flaw in your conceptual scheme: You got flummoxed for hormonal and reptilian reasons, among others, totally independent of the validity of how you like to live your life. If only we could walk around as representations of our inner selves that people could see and understand without our having to execute them. A manifestation of our algorithm; our painting; the sculpture of what we can be.
At some level, that’s what the magic is in the Harry Potter books. Hermione is tragically undergifted, so, although she knows the precise methodology behind the execution, there’s an inherent power missing from what comes out. Longbottom’s magic emulates his being too: More times then not, the way he’s trying to represent himself comes out awkwardly and differently from what was intended. Harry, the golden boy, doesn’t necessarily grasp every concept at first coup, but, when he does, the results emanate the strength that can only be given. Because the “inner” is outwardly visible, the representations are capable of interpretive empirical evaluation themselves. The only defense to mistake is faulty effort.
Pondering magic led me, perhaps invariably, to Eliot, and his lamentations in The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. One of the most popular poems of the 20th century (and, anecdotally, extremely popular among English majors at my undergraduate institution), Prufrock strums on our heartstrings by putting us in the eyes of a “paralyzed” protagonist. Al cannot do anything because it might be incorrect. It’s hard enough to be cool when you’re worried that the surrounding people might think you’re a stout short of a sixer, but Prufrock’s even worried that, as an awkward fellow, he’ll do things that not even he himself would approve of.
He just wants there to be something he can show: “It is impossible to say just what I mean! / But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen…” He’s done a lot of stuff, has a lot to tell, gathered up a lot of “butt-ends of my days and ways” that people want him to “spit out.” What more does he have to do to get the girl to stop being coy and like him?
He has to do it. Harry is like a Prufrock that gets his nerves in patterns on a screen whenever he casts a spell: Everyone’s always like “Holy shit Harry, you’re the bomb, I can’t believe the inner you was able to do such a thing!”
And thus the modern notion of confidence observed by Eliot and finessed by Rowling: People admire the way you do something because it tells them, well, that the people you’ve done this to before must have liked it well enough to respond in a way that encouraged you to do it again. And that’s generally true: We can all remember a few moments in our life where we got seriously called out for something to the point where it makes you nauseas to think about doing it again for fear of the same severe reprimand.
Instead of that being a flaw in execution, though, it could be an adorable dimple on the observable manifestation of yourself; A missing antler on Harry’s Patronus. Something on you, instead of something about you. How you’re showing yourself is only a part of it, of course, until you try to figure out what the hell is going on with the person next to you.
You should just cast a spell on them.
Second-to-last last day of skool
It's the Wednesday before reading week
and all through the school
not a prof makes any sense;
it's like it's a rule.
But, nonetheless, tis the season for the professorial post-class applause that's been pretty standard since I arrived. Why should you clap for a teacher at the end of a class? Is it a way to bridge the gap between the wide-eyed thoughts that your professor lives in the school of yesteryear and the very real idea of having to confront them in a courtroom in the future? Is it meant to make the prof feel complacent about the students' attitudes and scale back his/her final accordingly? Are we just monkeys that clap when anything ends?
Who knows. But, a warning to unrepentent instructors: Your right to congratulatory applause is, like a tip at a restaurant, dependent on you not being a total d-bag all semester. There are exceptions (my 15 person seminar class didn't clap, because the room wouldn't fit it) but, if you're waiting at the front of the room for questions/applause on the last day, and the room's empty, I'd suggest making your class (1) easier; (2) shorter; (3) easier; and (4) more fun.
and all through the school
not a prof makes any sense;
it's like it's a rule.
But, nonetheless, tis the season for the professorial post-class applause that's been pretty standard since I arrived. Why should you clap for a teacher at the end of a class? Is it a way to bridge the gap between the wide-eyed thoughts that your professor lives in the school of yesteryear and the very real idea of having to confront them in a courtroom in the future? Is it meant to make the prof feel complacent about the students' attitudes and scale back his/her final accordingly? Are we just monkeys that clap when anything ends?
Who knows. But, a warning to unrepentent instructors: Your right to congratulatory applause is, like a tip at a restaurant, dependent on you not being a total d-bag all semester. There are exceptions (my 15 person seminar class didn't clap, because the room wouldn't fit it) but, if you're waiting at the front of the room for questions/applause on the last day, and the room's empty, I'd suggest making your class (1) easier; (2) shorter; (3) easier; and (4) more fun.
I'm not sure either
I'm a Carolyn Kizer fan: Except when she talks about her masturbatory traveling (which, to be fair, is pretty often) her stuff is to the point and not so esoteric that it takes a degree in English and rote memorization of Shakespeare to get all the allusions. For example:
"Election Day, 1984"
Did you ever see someone coldcock a blind nun?
Well, I did. Two helpful idiots
Steered her across the tarmac to her plane
And led her smack into the wing.
She deplaned with two black eyes & a crooked wimple,
Bruised proof that the distinction is not simple
Between ineptitude and evil.
Today, with the President's red button playing
Such a prominent role,
Though I can't vote for it, I wonder
If evil could be safer, on the whole.
--Carolyn Kizer
"Election Day, 1984"
Did you ever see someone coldcock a blind nun?
Well, I did. Two helpful idiots
Steered her across the tarmac to her plane
And led her smack into the wing.
She deplaned with two black eyes & a crooked wimple,
Bruised proof that the distinction is not simple
Between ineptitude and evil.
Today, with the President's red button playing
Such a prominent role,
Though I can't vote for it, I wonder
If evil could be safer, on the whole.
--Carolyn Kizer
Quantum physics, meet scientific arrogance
From Australian news: We may have expedited the impending doom of the universe by trying to measure dark matter? "Incredible as it seems, our detection of the dark energy may have reduced the life expectancy of the universe," said Mr Krauss. We may have snatched away the possibility of long-term survival for our universe and made it more likely it will decay."
You know what, I really don't think so. I've seen the little experiment with the light going through the holes differently depending on whether it's being measured or not, but man, I'd be surprised if our universe was so fragile that we could screw something up just by trying to look at or measure it.
We're just so bad at saying we really have no idea.
You know what, I really don't think so. I've seen the little experiment with the light going through the holes differently depending on whether it's being measured or not, but man, I'd be surprised if our universe was so fragile that we could screw something up just by trying to look at or measure it.
We're just so bad at saying we really have no idea.
Monday
Pot hits the spot
From the Brits via Breezy: "The California Pacific Medical Center Research Institute team are hopeful that cannabidiol or CBD could be a non-toxic alternative to chemotherapy."
Of course this'll never go anywhere because Americans are paranoid about dope, but what if cancer patients had a choice between hours and hours of radiation therapy or getting stoned? The chemotherapy business would be in trouble.
Of course this'll never go anywhere because Americans are paranoid about dope, but what if cancer patients had a choice between hours and hours of radiation therapy or getting stoned? The chemotherapy business would be in trouble.
Wednesday
Beernerds
Finally one-stop shopping for all of your Midwestern brewskie information. I just checked it out briefly, via Oberslice, but there's information about the Miller Coors merger that would've been really helpful about a week ago when I had to write that paper.
Monday
Thursday
"Documents Show Joe McCarthy Was Right."
I copied and pasted that from the Conservapedia main page. I'm serious. Then they go on to quote Ann Coulter re: Joe McCarthy. I probably wouldn't believe Ann Coulter if she told me she was going to eat small animals for lunch.
Monday
Colbert
is running on both tickets next November, and people are trying to figure out the effect that's going to have. I personally could care less (except Colbert's funny sometimes) but I'm a little skeptical of the organization gathering the data for this article.
"Public Opinion Strategies, a Republican polling firm, recently completed a national poll of 1,000 likely 2008 voters that included Colbert's name in both the GOP and Democratic primaries."
No, I don't give two shits that they're a Republican firm, I just don't think I can come around and believe anyone from an organization that chooses to affix to their name the following moniker:
"'It's clear that Colbert's truthiness image and 'I am America' message has serious resonance among Democrats,' said Neil Newhouse, a POS partner."
The man is a POS partner at a GOP gig, and he thinks people are going to listen to his interpretations of Colbert's "resonance"* among Dems?
* "Resonance" in this context just made JP's list of 10 least favorite words in the English language, coming in between "feelings" (as used in the 'wahhhh wahhhh' sense) and "small-boobied" (what a nasty thing to call someone!)
"Public Opinion Strategies, a Republican polling firm, recently completed a national poll of 1,000 likely 2008 voters that included Colbert's name in both the GOP and Democratic primaries."
No, I don't give two shits that they're a Republican firm, I just don't think I can come around and believe anyone from an organization that chooses to affix to their name the following moniker:
"'It's clear that Colbert's truthiness image and 'I am America' message has serious resonance among Democrats,' said Neil Newhouse, a POS partner."
The man is a POS partner at a GOP gig, and he thinks people are going to listen to his interpretations of Colbert's "resonance"* among Dems?
* "Resonance" in this context just made JP's list of 10 least favorite words in the English language, coming in between "feelings" (as used in the 'wahhhh wahhhh' sense) and "small-boobied" (what a nasty thing to call someone!)
Remember the Exxon Valdez?
Yeah, barely, me too. But there are some lawyers who can't forget: The Supreme Court is still trying to decide how many punnies (PYOO-nees) Exxon should pay for that whole bumblefuck. Exxon says $2.5 billion is excessive, and apparently the fight was hard on the affirmatives: "Lawyers for the plaintiffs, some of whom are deceased, said the damages award is 'barely more than three weeks of Exxon's net profits.'"
That's the best argument I've ever heard a dead lawyer make. If JP had his druthers, there'd have been a freshly-carved gavel hitting mahogeny a loooong time ago in this affair.
That's the best argument I've ever heard a dead lawyer make. If JP had his druthers, there'd have been a freshly-carved gavel hitting mahogeny a loooong time ago in this affair.
The most insane Packer fan lives in...
Well, Green Bay now, but it was Australia just a little while ago.
Wayne Scullino just moved to Green Bay from Sydney, Australia with his family for the sole purpose of satiating his ravenous hunger for Packermania. "The family is following the Packers to every game, all season, at home and way. Scullino quit his job and the family is financing the pilgrimage with the money they made from selling their Australian home."
Anyone want to go to Australia and follow a Rugby League team for an entire season?
Wayne Scullino just moved to Green Bay from Sydney, Australia with his family for the sole purpose of satiating his ravenous hunger for Packermania. "The family is following the Packers to every game, all season, at home and way. Scullino quit his job and the family is financing the pilgrimage with the money they made from selling their Australian home."
Anyone want to go to Australia and follow a Rugby League team for an entire season?
Wednesday
What are you arguing for, sir?
Roland Martin, who JP'd never heard of, wrote a little polemic on marriage for cnn.com. The title is "Saving Marriages must be a National Priority," and, after chronicling his eight-year-old failed marriage, (which he, surprise of all surprises, thought shouldn't have ended) he wrote a particularly sappy and uninformative review of a movie where eight marriages aren't perfect. Mr. Martin thinks that's realistic.
Enter the specious arguments: "I strongly believe that for too many of us, we've accepted the notion that marriage will be perfect; that we won't endure trials and tribulations. But that isn't true. In fact, where is that ever true than in someone's fantasy life? What's amazing to me is that when faced with difficulty on the job, so many of us will buckle down and work harder to prove ourselves worthy to keep that job. But at home, we'd rather leave, even if that means putting our kids through a divorce."
First of all, with all due respect sir, this guy *two thumbs in* wants a fantasy life, and telling me something isn't going to be like it is in my fantasies just makes me think 'hmm, maybe I'll pass on this one and choose something that will be like my fantasies.' I like my fantasies.
Next, aside from the Protestant work ethic-ish theme of just continuing to work hard at something and eventually everything will work out, isn't there something missing here? When faced with difficulty on the job, don't we sometimes quit? If marriage is such a shitshow, where's the treatment of not getting married? It's like lamenting the depth and spikyness of a deep pit while ushering people to jump in. The counterargument is obvious in his job example: If they fire me and I can't find another job, I'm up shit creek without any TP. If I get divorced, I'll get a little peace and quiet.
Let me conclude you with Mr. Martin's conclusion: "Is it you I'm speaking to? Are you in the position where your marriage is crumbling before your very eyes? If so, take action today. Don't let divorce end it all. Remember, your trial today could eventually be your testimony tomorrow." First, how about the awful word choice picking 'trial' to operate as the antithesis to testimony, which is apparently related to a courtroom. Second, if it's you he's speaking to, you already fucked up. You're not going to get out with all of your appendages. Sorry!
Enter the specious arguments: "I strongly believe that for too many of us, we've accepted the notion that marriage will be perfect; that we won't endure trials and tribulations. But that isn't true. In fact, where is that ever true than in someone's fantasy life? What's amazing to me is that when faced with difficulty on the job, so many of us will buckle down and work harder to prove ourselves worthy to keep that job. But at home, we'd rather leave, even if that means putting our kids through a divorce."
First of all, with all due respect sir, this guy *two thumbs in* wants a fantasy life, and telling me something isn't going to be like it is in my fantasies just makes me think 'hmm, maybe I'll pass on this one and choose something that will be like my fantasies.' I like my fantasies.
Next, aside from the Protestant work ethic-ish theme of just continuing to work hard at something and eventually everything will work out, isn't there something missing here? When faced with difficulty on the job, don't we sometimes quit? If marriage is such a shitshow, where's the treatment of not getting married? It's like lamenting the depth and spikyness of a deep pit while ushering people to jump in. The counterargument is obvious in his job example: If they fire me and I can't find another job, I'm up shit creek without any TP. If I get divorced, I'll get a little peace and quiet.
Let me conclude you with Mr. Martin's conclusion: "Is it you I'm speaking to? Are you in the position where your marriage is crumbling before your very eyes? If so, take action today. Don't let divorce end it all. Remember, your trial today could eventually be your testimony tomorrow." First, how about the awful word choice picking 'trial' to operate as the antithesis to testimony, which is apparently related to a courtroom. Second, if it's you he's speaking to, you already fucked up. You're not going to get out with all of your appendages. Sorry!
Tuesday
Antitrust Flatulance Regulation
Professor Carstensen just informed our antitrust class of a violation due to excluding someone for 'passing gas'.
JP: farting?
Dr. Nugz: I think so
JP: excluding someone who farts can be an antitrust violation?
Dr. Nugz: That was the thought.
Wow.
JP: farting?
Dr. Nugz: I think so
JP: excluding someone who farts can be an antitrust violation?
Dr. Nugz: That was the thought.
Wow.
4 out of 5 fans aren't megalomaniacs
From ESPN.com: 1 in 5 fans do things to improve their favorite team's luck. I think this is the same sort of self-delusion that motivates people to buy lottery tickets: For some reason, people want to think that what they do and how they act has some sort of cosmic effect. "It's my birthday, I'm going to buy a lottery ticket!" As if the fact that it's your birthday has some sort of effect on either the number of winning tickets put out.
We all want to think that someone's upstairs keeping tally of our virtues and vices and somehow relating them to the random things that happen in the world, and it's a little depressing to realize that no, there's no score, no one's upstairs, and what you see is what you get. Stop brushing with different toothbrushes depending on who your team is playing and start, well, living in reality.
We all want to think that someone's upstairs keeping tally of our virtues and vices and somehow relating them to the random things that happen in the world, and it's a little depressing to realize that no, there's no score, no one's upstairs, and what you see is what you get. Stop brushing with different toothbrushes depending on who your team is playing and start, well, living in reality.
Monday
Frank Lasee, meet the Green Bay Gazette
On October 14th, the Green Bay Gazette interviewed our favorite moronic Wisconsin legislator Dr. Franky L. We learned lots of interesting stuff:
-Frank was on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart after he announced his 'more guns in schools' platform.
-Frank likes us: "Q. You don't think it's fair that the Journal Sentinel columnist brought up your personal information. A. You know, I'm an elected official, I guess I'm a pinata, you can attack me, and that's part of life — I have a third child, I have three daughters who are wonderful, beautiful."
-If you're wondering what the end of that quote is about, Franky confirmed the existence of an out-of-wedlock daughter, which means we can talk about it all we want without fear of a defamation action. He hates himself, though: "I highly recommend the more preferred order of getting married and then have children. I would recommend that for everyone."
Only one more little tidbit merits mention. In defense of guns in schools: "Are you aware that today we have gun safes that are only accessible by thumbprints, up to five thumbprints? Some of the argument or concern was that students might get hold of a school's weapon easily … the protocol I would expect schools to be taught is that the weapon is only to be taken out when someone is in the school or coming into the school with a gun."
It's always nice when those school shooters call in advance so we can get our whole faculty over to the gun safe to open it up and be ready for them!
-Frank was on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart after he announced his 'more guns in schools' platform.
-Frank likes us: "Q. You don't think it's fair that the Journal Sentinel columnist brought up your personal information. A. You know, I'm an elected official, I guess I'm a pinata, you can attack me, and that's part of life — I have a third child, I have three daughters who are wonderful, beautiful."
-If you're wondering what the end of that quote is about, Franky confirmed the existence of an out-of-wedlock daughter, which means we can talk about it all we want without fear of a defamation action. He hates himself, though: "I highly recommend the more preferred order of getting married and then have children. I would recommend that for everyone."
Only one more little tidbit merits mention. In defense of guns in schools: "Are you aware that today we have gun safes that are only accessible by thumbprints, up to five thumbprints? Some of the argument or concern was that students might get hold of a school's weapon easily … the protocol I would expect schools to be taught is that the weapon is only to be taken out when someone is in the school or coming into the school with a gun."
It's always nice when those school shooters call in advance so we can get our whole faculty over to the gun safe to open it up and be ready for them!
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