I'm Posting this Remotely.

By the way, I passed the bar.

Why You Should Invest in Mead Every February and July.

Note: I didn't use my new camera for this. Bar review material is not worthy of my fine brown camera.

Non-Non-Live Live Blogging the Bar Exam: Day 2.

No, the "non-non-live" description doesn't mean that I actually live blogged day 2. Please. I was too busy destroying my hand writing 10 essays with ballpoint pen in 6 hours. You know what happens after you write for that long continuously? Your wrist locks, and so you start writing with your whole arm, and then that locks, and you have to move your entire body to chicken-scratch out an "essay."

The "non-non-live" description means that this entry isn't actually even going to pretend to be a live blog. Nope, just wanted to point out one thing.

At the end, while we were waiting to leave, and they were checking all our collected essay booklets, the proctor announced that the Manny Ramirez trade occurred during the afternoon session. Many people seemed just as relieved/anxious about that news as they were finishing the bar exam.

Ah, Boston, we really do have our priorities straight.

Non-Live Live Blogging the Bar Exam: Day 1, Afternoon

1:15pm. They fail to mention that we will not have access to the testing hall during the lunch break. But that's where the bathrooms are. That's. Where. The. Bathrooms. Are.

1:20pm. Doors open. There are girls that are racing to the can. I mean throwing-toddlers-overboard pushing people out of the way to be first in line. So glad my gender can pee in under 20 seconds.

1:30pm. My deskmate comes back at the last minute. For a second there I thought she chickened out after the morning session. [Editor's note: Turns out about 20 people did in fact bail.]

1:31pm. The head proctor announces that someone complained of a beeping coming from sections 21 or 22. We can't start until that's resolved. And that's the sound of a thousand law students hating you.

1:32pm. This time I race through filling in the identification bubbles. I've learned my lesson. Don't follow along with the proctor when it's obvious what to do. Yeah, I was that kid in 7th grade. Now look where I am -- a lawyer!

3:15pm. It's halfway through the afternoon session. Full bladder. It's now or never I suppose. How do I do this? I have to raise my hand to signal the proctor to come over to me, but I don't want to waste anytime. I can squeeze out another question while I'm waiting. Ooh... "squeeze" is so the wrong word to think right now. But I can't do that with one hand in the air. Maybe if I sort of flutter my arm every once in a while she'll notice, and I can still sort of take the test. Such a pointless dilemma.

3:30pm. Hmm... mechanical pencil girl seems to be struggling a bit with the real pencil. Sucka.

3:45pm. HOLY CRAP. Someone just turned in their exam. That's a full hour ahead of schedule.

3:50pm. Ok. Another girl just got up. I think it's the same one who left early this morning. I ain't impressed, honey. Ok. Maybe a little bit.

4:00pm. Where the hell is everyone going? Either this is the easiest test in the world or the hardest. I can't tell. They all seem to have that vague dazed-sort-of-happy-but-really-miserable-what-have-I-done look on their faces. But every law student has that look on their face. Thank you! I'm here all night.

4:40pm. I changed two answers. [Editor's note: I had to check this when I got home. Sure enough, neither my first guess nor my second guess were correct. Lovely.]

5:00pm. I'm on the T [the subway] home, and these two sort of pudgy ladies sit next to me, and pull out today's sudoku. They suck at it. Yeah, I'm a major sudoku snob. Comes with being really awesome at it. Note to self: Lead with this fact at next week's speeddating event.

5:10pm. Pudgy lady #1 just complained about sand in her lungs... from last Saturday. It's Wednesday today.

5:15pm. #1 again. She shows off her new flip-flops to pudgy lady #2. Apparently they are not nice enough for "going out," but they are nice enough to "wear to work." What?

5:20pm. Pudgy lady #2 recounts a story of a sweaty man who sat down next to her on the T last week. It had been a really hot day. Summer and all. She was grossed out by it. Really? Because the snowstorm in your hair (and your odor, in which you have no privacy right but I wish you did) gives you license to criticize?

5:21pm. Wow. I'm really judgmental today.

5:25pm. Woman gets on at the Harvard stop. She pulls out Anne Enright's Man Booker prize winning novel The Gathering. Touche, Harvard.

Non-Live Live Blogging the Bar Exam: Day 1, Morning.

[Times are approximate. What do you want? We're not allowed to use computers for the bar exam.]

4:00am. I wake up because I have to pee. And because I'm scared. Not a good sign.

5:55am. Still awake. My alarm is set for 6am. I switch it to 6:10am. I was going to snooze once anyway.

6:10am. Didn't sleep anyway. Great. I only got 4 hours of sleep before the most important test of my life.

7:00am. Stuffing myself with carbs because I don't know how long it will be before I eat again. I buckle and have a sip of coffee. I hope I don't have to pee during the exam.

7:45am. I realize that the hoodie I brought for layering in case the room is cold is actually prohibited because of the potential for covering my head. Luckily I have another shirt in my car. I wonder how strict they're going to be about the dumb rules.

8:15am. Hmm... We did a practice run a month ago, but I decided to take a different path from the subway to the test site. Not smart. Oh, good, he looks like he knows where he's going.

8:20am. Dude, I'm going to the same place you are. I'm not sure why you're running ahead faster than me.

8:30am. Big crowd. No one's been let in yet even though 8:30 is the start time. We were advised to arrive early to be able to use the bathrooms before they start spouting the same standardized test instructions mantra we all know and love. I know the bathrooms are tiny in this place. This'll be interesting.

8:35am. I'm in Section 15. Crap. I'm equidistant from the two bathrooms. This means I'll have to use a maximum amount of time if I need to take a break in the middle of the exam. You win this time people with last names that start with Z or A.

8:40am. Ever since Scantron sheets have required filling in the "empty bubble" below every space you don't use for your name (my full name has very few letters in it), I've had to spend just as much time as everyone else filling those things out. The proctors should know that. Why are they speeding through the longest portion of the intro? STRESS.

8:50am. Where do proctors come from? They're always old. And they always use analog clocks. That's not a good combination for timed tests.

9:00am. Wow. Those girls just got busted for trying to use mechanical pencils. Those were specifically prohibited. I guess they are taking the dumb rules seriously.

9:07am. Begin! Hmm... question 1... uh... um... ok, that wasn't so bad.

9:09am. Question 2... skip.

9:11am. Question 3... skip.

9:13am. Question 4... ... ... crap.

10:30am. This is way harder than Bar/Bri. And the characters in the questions don't have cool names like Poteet.

10:46am. There are some really attractive people in here. Not too shabby Massachusetts. Not too shabby.

11:15am. 45 minutes to go in this morning session and someone already finished. Gunner. I hate you.

12:07pm. End of session 1. Time to cry. And for lunch. And to pee. Not necessarily in that order.

It's Time.

Tomorrow most people start their bar exams. Mass starts Wednesday, so I still have a day. I'm planning on getting a haircut and watching Batman tomorrow, to try and relax. I haven't slept well in weeks. I don't feel ready. I know there's material I don't know. And that's a scary thought.

To everyone starting the exam tomorrow: Good luck!

I Don't Know Torts. At. All.

A "friend" of mine sent me these good luck cards, courtesy of someecards.com, for the bar exam next week:





Cute. What's even more awesome than this is that said friend added a year of study for a public policy degree, and so won't be taking the bar until next year. Of course, the vast majority of law students he knows are taking the bar this year, so he'll be getting lots of fun good luck emails then.

What To Bring.

Wow. California lawyers either have scoliosis, are ninety years old, or are wusses... or all three. Massachusetts lawyers apparently have been badasses.

Here's what we can bring into the bar exam (in "one clear plastic food storage type bag (maximum size: one gallon)":

• Picture identification (driver's license, passport, etc.)
• Wallet
• Hygiene products
• Keys
• Pens, #2 pencils, erasers
• Lunch
• Spill proof water in plastic bottle (may be carried separately)
• Earplugs
• Medication(s)
• Tissues

Here's what we are specifically prohibited from bringing:

• Any person electronic device (PEDs), cell phones, Blackberries, etc., pagers, handheld computers, personal digital assistants, wireless e-mail devices, camera, radios, tape recorders and calculators...
• Handbags, purses, backpacks, briefcases, tote bags, luggage, etc.
• Notes, books, bar review or other study materials in any format or media
• Head covering of any kind (hats, caps, hoods, etc.) [Editorial note: I'm sure there is an exemption made for religious coverings, but it's not noted anywhere on the webpage. Curious.]
  
• Headphones or headsets
• Weapons of any kind
• Scrap paper
• Highlighters [Editorial note: Boo.]
  
• Any other items not specifically allowed

Mad Genius or Just Mad?

I took a break from studying this past weekend, in preparation of one last big final push to the end. Notice I didn't say "one last big final push to victory." Trust me. That's not assured by any means. I learned from my friend's father, however, that my secret hope possibly isn't mine!

Apparently, MAD Magazine did a spoof based on that very same premise that I wrote about regarding the bar exam. And so, sadly, being old enough to have read MAD back when the dinosaurs were living in high-tech society (Spy v. Spy and the fold-in rocked), I don't know if my previous blog post is just me claiming a memory as a new thought, or if it's actually a new thought.

Deep. I know.

Bar/Bri Down, Bar Exam To Go.

Check it. Thus endeth Bar/Bri bar review for Massachusetts. Here's what I learned from this experience:

1. Don't talk about the bar exam on bar exam day. The idea is that we're not supposed to freak each other out by claiming "there was a really tough civil procedure essay" when in fact, there was none.

2. Apparently not all humans are capable of learning. On more than one occasion, the dude in front of me would (a) lay his bag down exactly where my feet are supposed to go and (b) lean back and stretch and hit my computer and my coffee cup. Sure, he'd say sorry, or look sheepishly away when he did it, but not sheepishly enough, says I. One invasion of clearly delineated personal space--okay, I can forgive that--but 34 times? And I bet he'll still kick my ass on the bar.

3. Apparently the comic book store guy is alive and well. So the people behind me had this to say today...
A:"Did you know that one Oreo has 60 calories in it?"
B:"Actually, it has 75."
Me: (thinking loudly) "Either way, both of you could afford to, you know, stop eating them."

4. Paula Franzese is a goddess.

5. All law schools are required to be kept at a consistent room temperature of 62 degrees. There's no other explanation for why in the dead of summer, you find me wrapped up in a hoodie and pants.

6. Law. Ha. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Hee hee. Hoo.

So Close.

Bar/Bri has been building so much state pride in me... until today. Apparently, it's still legal to marry your cousin in Massachusetts.

Swing and a miss, Massachusetts. Swing and a miss.

I'm Still on Their Good Side.

There was a big box waiting for my at home today, with big letters spelling out "FRAGILE" all over it. I so hoped it was that crystal pony I ordered to take me away from studying for the bar.

It was even better. A care package from my law firm wishing me well on the bar! I have to confess that my heart pittered and pattered just a bit when I saw it. They didn't need to--recruiting season has long been over--but they did. Now all I need is a crystal pony, and I's all set, ayup.

Just. Nothing.

I spent this afternoon studying my bar exam flash cards in a coffee shop. A man stopped by on his way out and commented: "Hope Palsgraf is on the exam!," thereby indicating that:

1. He's a lawyer;
2. He gets me;
3. He's lame.

You see, Palsgraf is a famous torts case we have to know. I could only reply: "I hope not. I suck at torts." (And torts are everything you hate about the legal system.) Which made me think about what I do hope is on the exam. And all I could come up with was: nothing.

Seriously. I'm hoping that I will walk into World Trade Center in Boston, sit down, and see a booklet in front of me that reads: "Surprise! There's no exam. We only make you study because we know that the majority of you didn't learn anything in lawschool. All you have to do is sign this form promising not to tell anyone what the bar exam actually is. If you do, we will disbar you and lobotimize you so you don't remember anything. For the next six hours, feel free to use the provided decks of cards to play poker with the people at your table. Tomorrow, we'll have pie."

Yikes. Another One! And Yup, It's About the Bar.

At this point, I'm basically impeaching myself by admitting that I remembered another dream last night.

I'm at some restaurant. I'm on my way out when I decide that I actually need to go to the bathroom, so I turn back into the restaurant. The bathroom is down a bunch of stairs, which I apparently could have reach via the same stairway to the exit, but oh well, it's a dream. I go down the stairs--and there are a lot--and end up in a waiting room with a crowd of people. There's a men's room, a women's room, and a unisex bathroom, which has been taken over by women changing out of costumes. (Remember: Dream.) I go over to the men's room, which is behind a big metal door--like the ones that protect bank vaults--and there are these two women trying to peek inside, which doesn't make sense because there was no window on the door.

I go into the bathroom, and I think there was some argument between me and the women, and so one of them slams the door on me and hits me with it. I, of course, realize that this is a battery, and I start yelling at her that this is so. She ignores me or something like that. So I go and get a bouncer, and tell him that I don't want to actually throw her out, but that I just want to play a trick on her. So he agrees to pretend to kick her out making her think that she won't be able to sit for the bar exam. (Again, it's a dream.)

It turns out, she's blind, and she's already failed the bar a couple of times. So I just end up feeling bad.

One More Thing.

Isn't it weird that a Jesuit school goes by the nickname "BC"?

My bar review course is held at BC Law School. I overheard this conversation today (paraphrased):

Girl: You know when I stopped being Catholic?
Boy: When you started studying theology?
[*crickets*]
Girl: It was because of two things. First, I learned in Sunday school that my cat wasn't going to heaven.
Boy: Yeah, my priest would actually lie to kids about that, too, so they wouldn't leave the church.
Girl: And second, I learned that the only reason Hitler didn't go to heaven was because he committed suicide. That means it was possible that I almost could have hung out with Hitler in heaven, but not my cat.

Bar/Bri Day ___: Uh Oh.

I've lost count. All I know is that July 4th is here much too quickly. That's bad. Not because I don't like the US or birthdays--I like both in fact, very very much--but rather because everyone who has taken the bar has said that July 4th is the Rubicon: there's no going back, and it's the point where the bar exam becomes real. You have no excuse but to put your nose to the grindstone-- you know, as I'm typing this phrase, it occurs to me that putting your nose to a grindstone would hurt. Seems apt I guess. (Although, on further research, you only put your nose near it. No pain. Phew!)

Today, as we're listening to day 2 of 3 of the Evidence lecture, I noticed a growing chorus of groans everytime a Massachusetts distinction, from myself included. See, the bar exam in most states (not all--hello California!) is 2 day affair: 1 day testing general "multi-state" law, which is either federal law or common law that a majority of states follow, and 1 day testing any and all law specific to the particular state. Bar/Bri teaches from the starting point of multi-state law, and then points out state distinctions along the way. It's usually pretty efficient since no one state really veers all that much from the majority.

At first, I'd well up with pride, Ramona Quimby-style, whenever we came across a Massachusetts distinction. "That's MY state!" I'd think to myself. Real life has offered many occasions on which to be proud of Massachusetts jurisprudence. While it overall tends to the paternalistic, it definitely has the average joe's best interests at heart. But now. Oy. Everytime I hear another Massachusetts distinction, I and everyone else in my class groans at the thought of having to learn one more blackletter rule of law... and we can't take it anymore.

Adventures in Car Insurance.

I like Geico. They've been good to me. In general, I hate insurance -- our family has been screwed over more times than Britney on a good day by insurance -- but Geico has been pretty decent. Something about Warren Buffett's aura must infuse that place. The only problem is that Geico doesn't insure in Massachusetts. It insures in all 49 states and the District of Columbia, but not Massachusetts.

See, Massachusetts used to have the state legislature set auto insurance rates. That way, the evil corporations couldn't take advantage of families in lower economic strata. But since April, Mass has been relaxing its paternalistic grip and letting the butterflies go. Progressive rushed in like gangbusters, but Geico hasn't yet. This means that I have to switch insurance, even though I'm only here for a couple months.

Like I said, Progressive has been advertising like a banshee, so I took them up on their offer, and it turns out I get a better policy with them at a lower price than I had with Geico. That doesn't mean anything really since it's a different state, and I have yet to see how Progressive actually deals with a claim (*knock on wood*). Regardless, I pulled the trigger. I didn't realize that old insurance, my ex-policy with Geico, will get pro rated back and refunded. Sweet! The market works sometimes.

Except that the same reason that allows Progressive and Geico to be so cheap is the current stitch in my side: because they are direct insurers (eliminating the middleman agents of yesteryear -- well, and Massachusetts), I don't actually talk to anyone in person. And it turns out that Massachusetts, God bless them, requires a specific form to be filled out (the infamous RMV-1 -- Google it! And then burn it in effigy for me!) that requires title information.

That info is HARD to come by. I don't have title to my car yet. Still paying that good ol' principal and interest, amortized (I actually know what this all means thanks to law school of all places). Apparently, the old insurance agents doing this in person knew how to do all this with one hand tied behind their backs, but Progressive's a little regressive here. I called around and finally figured out that the bank financing my car does have the title, just not readily available, so they have to mail a copy of it to me.

Then I can call Progressive back, have them fill out the forms, and FedEx(!) the RMV-1 form to me, so that I can go to the Massachusetts RMV (that's Boston speak for DMV), and convert my registration and license, get new plates (tags to you Southerners), and then get my car inspected such that I may burn $4/gallon without fear of a moving violation, so that I can pass the character & fitness portion of the bar exam. Yup. It's all one full circle.

A Weekend Away.

I took a much needed (ie, ill-advised) weekend away from all things Bar/Bri (ie, I only took one Bar/Bri book with me), and went out to the country to a gathering some friends of mine were having. It's funny to say the country, seeing as how most people when they see the town I live in think I already live there.

So, despite the fun gas prices, I didn't carpool (ostensibly to retain the flexibility should I freak out and need to drive back to study--I didn't) despite the fun gas prices. The best thing about road trips in my mind is the fact that I have no choice but to eat fast food for every meal. And it doesn't count! I mean, when you don't have a choice, it's not fair to include it in your calorie count for the day. So both going there, and coming back, I made sure to stop at McDonald's and get their Southern-Style Chicken sandwich. Deeeeeelicious. (And it doesn't count!)

The hinky thing about the whole shebang was that I was charged a "Takeout Tax" of 30 cents on a 6 dollar bill. No percentage. Nada. This is highly suspect given that as a roadside service area, every meal is takeout at this McDonald's.

I'm on to you Ronald. My 6 readers will destroy you.

Bar/Bri Day Pi: At Least It's Not the LSAT.

Yesterday, we had a day off from Bar/Bri. At first, I thought it was odd that a lecture series of videotapes would mandate a day off. But then, after doing absolutely nothing except 76 games of Expert Minesweeper, I really appreciated the day off. Today, I learned the real reason for the sojourn: Apparently yesterday was the June administration of the LSAT.

Terrible, horrible memories of lost weekends, lost summers, and too much caffeine at coffee shops flooded my mind, as I smirked at how glad I am that I don't have to worry obsessively about some arcane test that will determine whether I can even do the career that I want to do, and wondering how law can be tested in a multiple-choice format. I mean, really, thank God that's over.

P.S. Can Boston sportswriters stop being so cocky about this championship that we haven't won yet? At least some people are finally coming 'round to the fact that, oh, you know, Boston just happened to be the last city to make history to come back from both a 3-0 and 3-1 deficit in sports playoffs, even though that never happens. Please stop messing with the karma faeries.

Bar/Bri Day 3942.

It's Sunday, but I'm blogging about last Friday's class. My sense of time is completely null and void. Is this why lawyers created the billable hour? So that we'd never lose track of time ever again? Seems like overkill to make up for a summer of Bar/Bri.

It wasn't a total loss though. I learned that states, including Massachusetts, still have constables! I hope that they have a favorite haberdasher, on the way to whom they stop at the local cooper, fletcher, and cobbler.