Sometime in the spring of 2007, just before I decided to enroll at Michigan, I read about "Building a Better Legal Profession," a new group composed of Stanford Law students devoted to, well, doing that thing in their name. What a great idea, I thought; who doesn't want better things? Similar bursts of creative thinking did wonders for the mousetrap! So these folks proceeded to put together a much-ballyhooed report cataloguing the mostly self-evident evils of BigLaw and otherwise communicating their earnest desire for more work/life balance and co-workers with varied skin color. And while many of their goals are laudable, if you read the manifestos they've sprinkled around the web it becomes quite clear that these students are engaged in what has to be called, only slightly uncharitably, a T-20 circle jerk. Essentially, they want the option of doing less work for less money and they want this opportunity at the country's most prestigious firms (manifesto #1 was sent to the AmLaw 100) even though they claim that "[i]t's not about finding the most prestigious place with the highest salary." It would be a stretch of only the physical sciences to say that the sense of entitlement oozes out of these papers.

This week we're taking a break from my usual dose of earnest law school-related babbling and moving on, temporarily, to some earnest national security-related babbling.

Like most students I went home for Christmas break. And on Christmas morning I was sitting on my couch, in front of my TV, unwrapping the Roomba I won't be able to use until I move out of AA and into a dwelling that more closely resembles something an actual adult would live in. You know, the kind of place that's amenable to being cleaned by a robot vacuum. I was just about to show my Mom a video of a cat riding a Roomba when the newsman started telling me that a well-educated Nigerian guy tried to hide some rather sophisticated but temperamental explosives underneath his testicles.

When J. Robert Oppenheimer left Harvard College and went to study experimental physics at the famous Cavendish Laboratories in Cambridge (England), he showed up and was, for the first time, surrounded by lots of people that were better than him at something.

As your 1L year gets under way, increasing numbers of adults in your life will describe the main difficulty of the first year of law school as "learning to think like a lawyer." Not only do they make it sound exhausting and terrible, but loads of them have packaged this observation along with a general admonition against becoming a lawyer at all. This is information that might have been helpful a year or so ago but now seems more like hostility cloaked as advice. They'll come brandishing out-of-context Shakespeare quotes and bemoaning the state of tort reform in two-sentence talking points and will aggressively accuse you of mortgaging your future only to be turned into a bigger and more useless jerk than you already are. There may be something to that last bit, actually, but now's not the time to sort all that out.

Three of the closing paragraphs from a recent New York Times article on the craptastic legal market:

If the downturn is prolonged, law schools will need to keep tuition and other costs in check so students do not graduate with unmanageable debt. More schools may follow the lead of Northwestern, the first top-tier law school to offer a two-year program.

One of the great contributions of the past decade to the social theory of the Internet is John Gabriel's Greater Internet Fuckwad Theory, which states that the proliferation of "Shitcock!"−shouting "Total Fuckwads" on the Internet is the natural result of giving relatively normal people anonymity and an audience. I submit to you that there's a related, parallel theory that explains or at least describes the behavior of otherwise circumspect people who use their Facebook status messages in order to share things they would never dream of sharing with a group of people that often comprises best friends, sworn enemies, forgotten acquaintances, and that guy they dated and contemplated marrying but who then slept with their French teacher at their graduation party.

Elliott Smith committed suicide 5 years ago last month.

I was sitting in my bedroom, procrastinating as usual by stubbornly going through the entirety of my bookmarks in order, desperately wanting to be distracted by something that was not on a syllabus. Elliott Smith's fansite "Sweet Adeline" was not far down the list. Instead of the usual paragraphs of crisply arranged text there was a rambling lower-case post that began with a solemn farewell, "goodbye elliott." What followed was a grief-stricken encomium to a musician who had deeply touched a lot of lives.

Song of the Gunner
by Walt Whitman

1

I raise my hand, and sing myself,
And what I assume nobody should assume,
And all I read in Hornbooks will be shared with you.

After last month's summer music review, a number of readers wrote in with some very personal stories of how pop music has changed their lives. Jennifer from Minneapolis made a touching attempt at a poem that described how Neil Diamond helped her get through puberty without having a breakdown.  "Kelly" from Brooklyn credits her ringtone version of Mims' "This Is Why I'm Hot," which contains the lyrics "I'm hot 'cuz I'm fly/You ain't 'cuz you not," with subconsciously teaching her enough about logical reasoning to help boost her LSAT score 5 points and catapult her into our very own Law School. 

It was a big summer for crappy pop music. While most of you were cruising around listening to your iPods and compact discs, I was listening to the radio so you didn't have to.  Granted, this review may contain information that might have been more useful at the beginning of the summer, but no matter.