Archive for December, 2009

So my last post was pretty dreary, I’ll admit. I think I have come to accept the idea that I might have some small spats of seasonal depression. It’s nothing too serious, just my mood and overall outlook on things gets kinda grim towards the holiday season, which might in turn be connected to the holidays themselves simply because of the timing. So I’ve decided to take charge. My Dad made some suggestions to me (since I think he might also have a similar mood pattern) and I think I’ll try to follow them: First, Vitamin D supplements. Apparently, according to his “research,” a lack of sunlight, or full spectrum light, can affect someone’s mood negatively. He claims vitamin D can help with that. Second, diet and exercise, which brings me to my next point.

It’s been a common theme for me throughout undergrad (and so far one quarter into law school) that I’ve had great fitness ambitions at the beginning of a quarter that later as the curriculum progresses and as exams approach, those goals and practices kind of fall by the wayside. In fact, there have been times where I have been in pretty great shape (if I do say so myself). However, now is not one of those times. As such, my pre-new year’s resolution has begun and I’ve started to eat better (read: no Taco Bell) and exercise more regularly. This alone is starting to make me feel a little better about things in life. Although I am sure that once school starts and the crazy reading, briefing, outlining, etc., schedule starts I will be tempted to, again, sacrifice fitness for academic diligence, I’m hoping that having a gym in my building will help out. If anyone wants to go in with me on, say, an exercise regime it might help to have another person to encourage and push you to keep at it (even if only via the Internet).

Lastly, the other thing I was getting down on myself (pretty heavily) about summer work. I sent out a bunch of letters and kept getting rejections. While one might expect this from firms given the market as it is now, still, receiving several rejections within a small time span has certain detrimental psychological consequences. (Side note: It was extremely frustrating applying to firms who claimed to hire 1Ls according to their NALP forms only to receive an email or letter days after having submitted materials to their offices stating, “We don’t hire 1Ls” …. if that is the case, please update your NALP form) Anyway, following round after round of rejection, I have shifted focus and now emails and letters are coming back more positively. “When can we set up an interview?” or “Please send us more information” (the latter is certainly not necessarily a positive, but at least it’s not a negative and at least I know they’re actually looking at my submissions).

So things are looking up for the moment. Also, I return to Chicago very soon, which I am certainly excited for. See you all after the return to the great Midwest!

I always seem to get pretty down on myself during the holidays. Whether it’s my typical rollercoaster (verging on bipolar) emotional periods of self-doubt followed by “highs” of confidence or if it’s just some kind of seasonal depression, I usually am not as happy as the people around me during Christmas time. In fact, you might call me a downright Scrooge. I dunno, I’m just not into the holiday season. It all seems very fake to me. That, and life is just kind of lame right now. Grades still aren’t out and while I’ve been trying to convince myself I don’t care too much about them (as is the norm for law students it seems), I actually do care and I’d like to know whether my study habits are generally good or generally bad. And, I still have yet to land a job. I’m not sure what most people’s situation is, but it seems I am in the (unemployed) majority for the time being — however this is just one more uncertainty I could do without right now.

But back to Christmas, one thing in particular I absolutely cannot handle during this time of year is the music. Christmas music is awful. I’ll give you an example: I went to dinner with my parents and some family friends the other day and the restaurant hired carolers. They circled the floor of the restaurant singing, “Here we come a-wassailing” (how clever of them), and periodically stopped at tables to ask patrons what songs they would like to hear. When they got to our table, they asked: “Would you like to hear something traditional …. or jazzy?!?!” Of course, my parents went with jazzy. It was awful — the much too common and WAY overplayed Pat Boone-ish, Bing Crosby-esque syncopated version of some random Christmas song. I was embarrassed for the singers (since I’m sure on the inside, if they had much musical taste, they were dying a little). Yes, I am somewhat of a music snob, but not like an indy-rocker music snob. I just know when I hear bad music — and by and large, Christmas music is bad music. I suppose the other reason I hate Christmas music so much is because I used to work around a mall for several years during the holiday season. So I got to hear the same songs I hated so much over and over again for eight to ten hours a day.

Other than that, I miss Chicago. I thought coming back to my home town would be great. While in Chicago, I couldn’t wait to get back to see my old friends and eat at the local restaurants I enjoyed so much. But now that I’m here, I just wanna go back. Chicago is my new home now, and I love it there (yes, even Hyde Park). Before, I thought I might want to return home after graduation and get my legal career going here, but now I know that I would prefer not to do that. It’s kind of sad and kind of liberating at the same time. While I wouldn’t necessarily mind coming back here to live, I just know now that there is really nothing tying me to live in this place. I’ve only lived in Chicago for a few months, but I already feel more at home there than I do here, which may speak volumes to how enjoyable Chicago is in general. Anyway, I recommend the city.

Bah Humbug.

Using family in the larger sense, my family is somewhat lower class. My parents though, being the most successful of our clan, are more upper-middle class (they have a combined annual income that is probably a few ticks over $120,000). Despite their success, neither of my parents are college graduates. In fact, I was the first of all my cousins (more than fifty people if you count both sides) to graduate from a four-year university. It goes without saying then, that my going to Harvard Law School was a major family event.

And when I was 0L with my HLS acceptance in hand, I loved discussing my future profession and income.

• “Yeah Uncle Mike, they are paying first year attorneys $160,000 – crazy huh?”
• “I’m not sure Aunt Tammy, probably corporate litigation.”
• “Haha, I don’t think it’s selling my soul, that’s where the best work is.”

Now that I have a semester under my belt and we are all together again for the holidays, not only do I hate discussing this shit, when I do, I have to lie. Instead of:

• “Everyone is hideous and miserable.”
• “No it’s actually pretty easy.”
• “What did I learn? Well I know how to search Westlaw.”
• “The professors? I can’t even remember their names, much less what they failed to teach me.”
• “I spent more time drunk, watching Friends reruns, than I did studying.”
• “No Grandma, I can’t write your will, I don’t know shit about the practice of law.”
• “Cousin Johnny, I’ve sampled the women and I wouldn’t recommend them.”

I have to be all like:

• “Oh yeah, Boston is great.”
• “Harvard Law School attracts the best and the brightest, my classmates are very smart.”
• “We all basically live in the library, researching and studying.”
• “Haha, the Harvard Law girls are very smart and intimidating but who knows? I’ve gone on a few dates.”
• “No Grandma, I can’t practice law yet, but when you get your will done, let me look it over, I’ll make sure he treats you right.”
• “My professors and I had a number of heated debates. They definitely respect my opinion and consider me more of a colleague than a student.”

So I guess I’m trying to say that law school was just as bad as everyone said. I have yet to learn anything useful; it all feels like a huge waste of time. To quote our Vice-President, “law school is the biggest bore in the world.”

In brighter news, I found a job. A middle-sized firm in my hometown, $2750 a week. They were very understanding when I informed them that I was going to wait and see if anything materializes at a V50 before accepting. A cursory examination of their attorneys yielded two Harvard graduates, so I guess they have some experience with us. I have some concerns about the firm, primarily their lack of perks. I have to pay for my own parking, they rarely host big recruiting events, I’ll be responsible for three of my five lunches every week, etc. At least it pays…

Preface: Look, I’m really sorry about all these mouse-related posts, but this is seriously what is most pressing in my life right now. (Yeah, I still have a contracts exam, but as you can see, I really know how to prioritize!)

I am at a loss. I am prepared to throw in the towel.

It all started when I opted for the glue trap. I placed a dab of peanut butter in the middle and enclosed it so that it formed a little tube. The idea was that the mouse would be trapped inside and you wouldn’t have to look at it. I spent the day (Friday) outlining for contracts and went to bed at the respectable hour of midnight. Head hit pillow and I nodded off shortly after.

Not more than an hour later I awoke to the sound of a strange scratching or scuffling sound. I didn’t have to see it to know what was going on. While the peanut butter was placed in the exact middle of the glue strip, the thing was small enough that the mouse could theoretically get two paws on the glue and keep two out of it. So I figured he was in an epic death match with the glue trap, would soon weary of it, and then gently succumb.

I turned on the light near my bathroom which is around a corner from the kitchen so while lighting my apartment well enough to get a rough idea of what was going on in the kitchen, it didn’t flood the place with light. I didn’t want to see exactly what was going on. I ripped my phone off the charger and sent the following text to James:

IT’S IN THE GLUE TRAP. NOT DEAD. HELP!!!!!

A few minutes later James called with the tragic news that he would come over and deal with the situation, but he had just landed in Toledo for the holiday and wouldn’t be back for a week and a half. (I may have gotten a bit hysterical.)

He continued: “Okay, this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to open your window. You’re going to pick up the trap. You’re going to drop it out the window. Okay? You got that?”

I replied (voice absolutely quaking with fear): “Okay.”

“And when you’ve done that, you’re going to call me back, okay?”

“Okay.”

We hung up and I immediately dialed Parker’s number. He sounded either drunk or half-asleep. It being 1:25AM at this point, I assumed it was the latter. (It was the former.) After half-explaining, half-shrieking my situation and its direness to him he agreed to get in a cab and come take care of the mouse.

And this point I had only one option. I grabbed my coat out of the closet, took my keys and cellphone and, pretending I didn’t notice the glue trap dancing back and forth across the linoleum, dashed out the door. I slammed the door behind me, locked it, and ran outside. The street was surprisingly quiet for what was relatively early on a Friday night. I felt pretty out of place standing there in my pajamas and coat and glasses while the occasional partier or dog-walker or sketchy person happened by. It was freezing and an embarrassingly long stretch of time passed (and I got propositioned by one too many drunk gentleman) before I realized I should be waiting for Parker in the partition between the outside door and the inside door of my building.

Twenty minutes later he arrived and I gave him the keys to my apartment. He went in to investigate while I hung out down the hall.

Then he said something that made my stomach sink: “Um…I don’t see it…”

“…what?”

“It’s not here.”

“WHAT?!!?”

“Oh. Wait. Is this it?”

“Is WHAT it?”

“I think I see the glue trap. But there’s no mouse in it.”

I dragged myself back into my apartment with as much enthusiasm as a convict headed for the gallows. Sure enough, there was the glue trap somehow wedged between my cupboard wall and refrigerator. And sure enough, the mouse was not in it. There was, however, a not insubstantial pile of brand new wood shavings the little bastard ripped out of my cupboard wall which he no doubt did in a panic-induced bout of hysteria.

I made Parker scour the rest of my apartment with a flashlight peering into corners and under my bed for any signs that the deranged – and now probably really pissed off – mouse was lurking.

I have seriously underestimated this mouse…this herculean mouse who can apparently defeat even the almighty glue trap.

I’m feeling a bit defeated and sad right now. It’s now 4:24AM and I haven’t slept more than an hour. I’m afraid that the mouse, now drunk with rage at my latest murder attempt, will do something horrifying like crawl on me in my sleep to get even.

Oh, New York. You’re such a bitch sometimes.