Thursday, May 29, 2008
|Hey, hey, what's that sonnerie?|
There are a lot of new sounds here in France. Like so many things you can grow accustomed to and then take for granted at home, I don't think I realized in New York just how much my life was regulated by sound.
The sounds of my phone that tell me when I'm receiving a call, when someone has left a vmx and when I've received a text message. I know the sound a truck makes to signal that it is backing up. I know the sound an elevator makes to tell me when it's arrived at a floor. And I know the beep my CO detectors makes to let me know that asphyxiation is probably not in my immediate future.
The sounds are different here. I don't recognize them. And (perhaps worse still) I don't regard them.
Everytime my work phone rings I miss the phone call because it isn't until the 3rd refrain of the "doodleydodoop!" that I realize it's a phone and mine.
Two weeks ago when a friend was visiting me from Madrid, on a Friday morning, he was messing around on Facebook and I was getting ready to go to work, when there was a weird sound. He asked, "Hey, what's that sound?" I said, "Eh, I dunno, there are weird sounds here. Just ignore it." Three minutes later it sounded again. And then I said, "Actually... could that be the doorbell?" I didn't even know I had a doorbell (I don't think I do in New York).
I went to the door and opened it (no peep hole here) to discover a middle-aged Sri Lankan man wearing a NY Mets baseball cap with a couple of white ouvriers in tow. He said he was there to replace the couch -- evidently the one I had wasn't stylish enough.
Oh, and to wash my dishes; clean the bathroom and the water closet; and wash and replace all of the towels and linens. Oh, and he also took out my trash.
Yay for strange new sounds and the surprises they bring.
There are a lot of new sounds here in France. Like so many things you can grow accustomed to and then take for granted at home, I don't think I realized in New York just how much my life was regulated by sound.
The sounds of my phone that tell me when I'm receiving a call, when someone has left a vmx and when I've received a text message. I know the sound a truck makes to signal that it is backing up. I know the sound an elevator makes to tell me when it's arrived at a floor. And I know the beep my CO detectors makes to let me know that asphyxiation is probably not in my immediate future.
The sounds are different here. I don't recognize them. And (perhaps worse still) I don't regard them.
Everytime my work phone rings I miss the phone call because it isn't until the 3rd refrain of the "doodleydodoop!" that I realize it's a phone and mine.
Two weeks ago when a friend was visiting me from Madrid, on a Friday morning, he was messing around on Facebook and I was getting ready to go to work, when there was a weird sound. He asked, "Hey, what's that sound?" I said, "Eh, I dunno, there are weird sounds here. Just ignore it." Three minutes later it sounded again. And then I said, "Actually... could that be the doorbell?" I didn't even know I had a doorbell (I don't think I do in New York).
I went to the door and opened it (no peep hole here) to discover a middle-aged Sri Lankan man wearing a NY Mets baseball cap with a couple of white ouvriers in tow. He said he was there to replace the couch -- evidently the one I had wasn't stylish enough.
Oh, and to wash my dishes; clean the bathroom and the water closet; and wash and replace all of the towels and linens. Oh, and he also took out my trash.
Yay for strange new sounds and the surprises they bring.
promulgated by SWS2.1 at 06:37.
0 comments
________________________
|And that's why you keep waiting for the express train.|
I have been an SA in my firm's bureau parisien for over 2 weeks now. And in these first 12 work days where I should have worked at least 84 hours assuming an 8hr day less 1 hour for lunch, I would guess that I've "worked" about 12 hours. Assuming you don't count planning my academic schedule for next year, cleaning out my school email's inbox, knitting a sweater for a friend, watching "Seinfeld" and "NewsRadio" on YouTube, reading the NYT and Le Monde, updating this blog and shopping for vintage chairs as work.
And all through those distractions I felt guilty. Inappropriately so, since it was not as if: 1) I hadn't asked multiple people for work, 2) I hadn't made the fact that I had no work to do known or 3) I was avoiding work that I had been given.
Still, I didn't get to where I am the way that I did by being someone who likes to remain idle for too long.
So two nights ago I decided to take matters into my own hands. If they weren't going to give me work, I was going to free myself from the shackle of my desk. I'm in a marvelous city that is aching to be explored. So the next morning (yesterday), I didn't get into the office until about 10.30. The next two hours I sat with my officemates talking about the place and nature of latina women in societies today (both are girls -- one is Cuban-American, the other is Franco-Colombian), particularly as seen in contemporary literature. At 12.30 an officemate (who has some work, but not too much -- not a legal stagiaire or SA) and I took a nearly 3hr lunch at La Duree. For dessert I had, of course, a macaron. At 16.30, I was literally arranging my bag to go home (well, not home -- I was going to go knit in the jardin du Luxembourg). At 16.32 I received a call from my partner mentor (who I have not seen since the first day I arrived where he poked his head into the office to say that he had to cancel lunch [I don't blame him -- he's extremely busy and I think, hierarchically speaking, the most important person in this office]). At 17.02 I had 250+ pages of technical documents to read and summarize for a client to present to its board of directors next week.
And that's why you always carry an umbrella.
And that's why you don't teach lessons to your kids.
I have been an SA in my firm's bureau parisien for over 2 weeks now. And in these first 12 work days where I should have worked at least 84 hours assuming an 8hr day less 1 hour for lunch, I would guess that I've "worked" about 12 hours. Assuming you don't count planning my academic schedule for next year, cleaning out my school email's inbox, knitting a sweater for a friend, watching "Seinfeld" and "NewsRadio" on YouTube, reading the NYT and Le Monde, updating this blog and shopping for vintage chairs as work.
And all through those distractions I felt guilty. Inappropriately so, since it was not as if: 1) I hadn't asked multiple people for work, 2) I hadn't made the fact that I had no work to do known or 3) I was avoiding work that I had been given.
Still, I didn't get to where I am the way that I did by being someone who likes to remain idle for too long.
So two nights ago I decided to take matters into my own hands. If they weren't going to give me work, I was going to free myself from the shackle of my desk. I'm in a marvelous city that is aching to be explored. So the next morning (yesterday), I didn't get into the office until about 10.30. The next two hours I sat with my officemates talking about the place and nature of latina women in societies today (both are girls -- one is Cuban-American, the other is Franco-Colombian), particularly as seen in contemporary literature. At 12.30 an officemate (who has some work, but not too much -- not a legal stagiaire or SA) and I took a nearly 3hr lunch at La Duree. For dessert I had, of course, a macaron. At 16.30, I was literally arranging my bag to go home (well, not home -- I was going to go knit in the jardin du Luxembourg). At 16.32 I received a call from my partner mentor (who I have not seen since the first day I arrived where he poked his head into the office to say that he had to cancel lunch [I don't blame him -- he's extremely busy and I think, hierarchically speaking, the most important person in this office]). At 17.02 I had 250+ pages of technical documents to read and summarize for a client to present to its board of directors next week.
And that's why you always carry an umbrella.
And that's why you don't teach lessons to your kids.
promulgated by SWS2.1 at 05:08.
0 comments
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Tuesday, May 27, 2008
|One Giant Step in Some Sort of Interior Direction|
So despite the fact that if all goes well I will be moving out of my lovely loft apartment in Clinton Stuy to a significantly smaller apartment in Paris in 16mos, I've nevertheless decided to try and turn my apartment into something.
I dunno why it came to me (perhaps after seeing what my hip downstairs neighbors have done with their apartment), but about three or four weeks ago I was seized with this desire to turn one of the empty spaces in my apartment into a sitting room.
But not just a
sitting room. Think more: I've inherited a mansion from a long lost never known very wealthy uncle and the first room that I'm going to change is his study. I want to maintain its sense of presence and elegance, but I want to make it modern (without being mod), hip and me.
The "center"piece of the "reconstruction" of this library is going to be my wall (in my mind I've decided that "books are dead" and I've ripped out all of the book shelves). Ideally lots of framed images/works of varying dimensions floor to ceiling. Maybe even a few mirrors and one or two clocks.
I finally got this piece ("Ariella and Crow," by Sarah Small) that I purchased at the Silent Auction and Rock Show that I went to in the fall framed.
And these pieces that I purchased from Tiny Cup by a Pratt Student (I assume) named Alex Dyck
(I'm not sure how I felt about her, but one of the pieces I just found funny and wanted to have and the other struck me as very "Andreas Gursky meets Nature" in a way that I totally dug), I should be able to pick up from the framer when I get back from Paris.
I also just ordered these two prints from Threadless (and the fact that they've started turning some of their designs into
large format prints could not have been better timed with my interest in this way).
I'm also going to frame some of the black-and-whites that I took back when I was "studying" to "be" a "photographer" and maybe have some prints made of some things I've seen with my new digital camera.
I think (know) the hardest thing will be finding the perfect chairs and tables. How much am I willing to spend? How hard am I willing to look? Will I be able to commit to that special piece when the time comes, should the time ever come?
Stay tuned as it all comes together.
So despite the fact that if all goes well I will be moving out of my lovely loft apartment in Clinton Stuy to a significantly smaller apartment in Paris in 16mos, I've nevertheless decided to try and turn my apartment into something.
I dunno why it came to me (perhaps after seeing what my hip downstairs neighbors have done with their apartment), but about three or four weeks ago I was seized with this desire to turn one of the empty spaces in my apartment into a sitting room.
But not just a
sitting room. Think more: I've inherited a mansion from a long lost never known very wealthy uncle and the first room that I'm going to change is his study. I want to maintain its sense of presence and elegance, but I want to make it modern (without being mod), hip and me.
The "center"piece of the "reconstruction" of this library is going to be my wall (in my mind I've decided that "books are dead" and I've ripped out all of the book shelves). Ideally lots of framed images/works of varying dimensions floor to ceiling. Maybe even a few mirrors and one or two clocks.
I finally got this piece ("Ariella and Crow," by Sarah Small) that I purchased at the Silent Auction and Rock Show that I went to in the fall framed.
And these pieces that I purchased from Tiny Cup by a Pratt Student (I assume) named Alex Dyck
(I'm not sure how I felt about her, but one of the pieces I just found funny and wanted to have and the other struck me as very "Andreas Gursky meets Nature" in a way that I totally dug), I should be able to pick up from the framer when I get back from Paris.
I also just ordered these two prints from Threadless (and the fact that they've started turning some of their designs into
large format prints could not have been better timed with my interest in this way).
I'm also going to frame some of the black-and-whites that I took back when I was "studying" to "be" a "photographer" and maybe have some prints made of some things I've seen with my new digital camera.
I think (know) the hardest thing will be finding the perfect chairs and tables. How much am I willing to spend? How hard am I willing to look? Will I be able to commit to that special piece when the time comes, should the time ever come?
Stay tuned as it all comes together.
promulgated by SWS2.1 at 06:27.
0 comments
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|New Camera|
I have a new camera. And Blogger has made adding pictures easier (for some reason I wasn
't really able to get Picassa). So now I'm going to start adding pictures to my blog posts. I am excited about this and hope you are too. Eh, why waste hope on something that must surely be true?
I have a new camera. And Blogger has made adding pictures easier (for some reason I wasn
't really able to get Picassa). So now I'm going to start adding pictures to my blog posts. I am excited about this promulgated by SWS2.1 at 05:40.
0 comments
________________________
|Bank Holiday|
At around 4pm Central European Time (CET) yesterday, for about the 17th time, I'd once again forgotten that it was Memorial Day in the states and that's why still none of my stateside friends were online. I've become so accustomed to the bulk of the 2nd half of my day being filled with idle internet chat because I have literally not a single thing to do at work other than sit here. At around at a little after 4pm CET it hit me, "Hey, but what about friends in the firm's London office! Why aren't they online?" Then I remembered (yes, I'm slow), that London is closed, too.
But... hold the phone. Does London celebrate Memorial Day, as well? Or is it a touch of the "We should get everything the colonials get"-itis?
So as soon as my friend in the London office got online, I assailed her: "So, how'd you enjoy the day off? And, btw, WHY did you have the day off?"
"Bank holiday," she replied. I asked, "What holiday?" "Bank holiday," she said again. She asked if the system was being weird, since it seemed like I was not getting her messages.
"No, your message came through. But isn't 'bank holiday' just a general term? What were you celebrating?"
NQA. No Questions Asked. She was told it was a "bank holiday" and that's all the reason she needed not to go into work.
So I googled "England bank holidays 2008." May 26, 2008: "Spring Bank Holiday." WTF?! C'mon, England! Really? Really?!
When I informed my friend that her willful blindness was well placed, she replied (somewhat facetiously), "But we work hard here! We deserve a day off!"
To which I pointed out that there was just a holiday just a couple of weeks ago in early May: "Early May Bank Holiday."
Really?
At around 4pm Central European Time (CET) yesterday, for about the 17th time, I'd once again forgotten that it was Memorial Day in the states and that's why still none of my stateside friends were online. I've become so accustomed to the bulk of the 2nd half of my day being filled with idle internet chat because I have literally not a single thing to do at work other than sit here. At around at a little after 4pm CET it hit me, "Hey, but what about friends in the firm's London office! Why aren't they online?" Then I remembered (yes, I'm slow), that London is closed, too.
But... hold the phone. Does London celebrate Memorial Day, as well? Or is it a touch of the "We should get everything the colonials get"-itis?
So as soon as my friend in the London office got online, I assailed her: "So, how'd you enjoy the day off? And, btw, WHY did you have the day off?"
"Bank holiday," she replied. I asked, "What holiday?" "Bank holiday," she said again. She asked if the system was being weird, since it seemed like I was not getting her messages.
"No, your message came through. But isn't 'bank holiday' just a general term? What were you celebrating?"
NQA. No Questions Asked. She was told it was a "bank holiday" and that's all the reason she needed not to go into work.
So I googled "England bank holidays 2008." May 26, 2008: "Spring Bank Holiday." WTF?! C'mon, England! Really? Really?!
When I informed my friend that her willful blindness was well placed, she replied (somewhat facetiously), "But we work hard here! We deserve a day off!"
To which I pointed out that there was just a holiday just a couple of weeks ago in early May: "Early May Bank Holiday."
Really?
promulgated by SWS2.1 at 05:15.
1 comments
________________________
Thursday, May 22, 2008
|I'm so underread.|
But maybe being underread is underrated?
In any case, my first "meme." Still not sure what that even means. No pun intended. Thanks, big-brained opposable-thumbed bipedalism (see link to the right).
"What we have here is the top 106 books most often marked as 'unread' by LibraryThing's users. As in, they sit on the shelf to make you look smart or well-rounded. Bold the ones you've read, underline the ones you read for school, italicize the ones you started but didn't finish."
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Anna Karenina
Crime and Punishment
Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion
Life of Pi : a novel
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Ulysses
Madame Bovary
The Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
A Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveler’s Wife
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway (yeah! namesake!)
Great Expectations
American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran : a memoir in books
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked : the life and times of the wicked witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales
The Historian : a novel
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible : a novel
1984
Angels & Demons
Inferno
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Corrections
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes : a memoir
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States : 1492-present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-five
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake
Collapse : how societies choose to fail or succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics : a rogue economist explores the hidden side of everything
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance : an inquiry into values
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood : a true account of a multiple murder and its consequences
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
But maybe being underread is underrated?
In any case, my first "meme." Still not sure what that even means. No pun intended. Thanks, big-brained opposable-thumbed bipedalism (see link to the right).
"What we have here is the top 106 books most often marked as 'unread' by LibraryThing's users. As in, they sit on the shelf to make you look smart or well-rounded. Bold the ones you've read, underline the ones you read for school, italicize the ones you started but didn't finish."
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Anna Karenina
Crime and Punishment
Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion
Life of Pi : a novel
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Ulysses
Madame Bovary
The Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
A Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveler’s Wife
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway (yeah! namesake!)
Great Expectations
American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran : a memoir in books
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked : the life and times of the wicked witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales
The Historian : a novel
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible : a novel
1984
Angels & Demons
Inferno
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Corrections
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes : a memoir
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States : 1492-present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-five
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake
Collapse : how societies choose to fail or succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics : a rogue economist explores the hidden side of everything
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance : an inquiry into values
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood : a true account of a multiple murder and its consequences
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
promulgated by SWS2.1 at 09:43.
0 comments
________________________
|Audioesclave|
"But to be yourself is all that you can do..." -- Audioslave
The other night I grabbed a drink at a beer bar near Etienne-Marcel with a friend of mine (named Etienne -- mere coincidence). We got to talking about language and he was saying that what he hates about speaking English is that he can't express himself the way he naturally would. That he can't be himself in English because he has to speak as if he were a child. I started to agree with him.
While I do not know all of the words in the English language, I do know enough words (or understand the language sufficiently well enough to jimmy words that others who also know the language well will be able to comprehend what I mean to convey) to be able to say what I want or pretty close to it. But in French, I only know a handful of words. And the longer I'm here (not that I've been here for that long or will be here for that long), the more I realize how little French I know, but also the more English words fall out of my brain because I get so consumed with trying to come up with a French word for an English-based idea. It took me a week to remember the word "awning!" So much time had passed that I can't now recall what awning I had wanted to describe or talk about in the first place.
According to one of the other stagiaires with whom I work (she's not a legal intern, but we share an office nonetheless), the English language is estimated to be about 5x larger than the French language. Since she has a masters in translation, I'm going to choose to believe her.
So when Etienne said that he can't be himself in English and I started to agree with him about not being able to be myself in French, I actually changed my mind mid-nod remembering what la traductrice had said. (I realize the proceeding argument is assuming a lot. It's assuming that the only way we communicate is through words. It's assuming that the number of words in the language can be counted. It's assuming that slang isn't leveling out the differences in "size" of the "languages". It's assuming that the number of words is so correlated to the number [and number of uses] of meanings. It's assuming a lot. But whatever. Just roll with it.) Because arguably while I might not be able to be myself in French, Etienne has the opportunity to be more than himself in English. With more words to describe X, Y and Zed, Etienne may be able to give verbal facets to his express words that he otherwise could not do in his native tongue. Whereas I, being accustomed to having so many choices at my beck and call am now limited. Potentially even if I were to become fluent in French, I might still never be able to be myself because I was forged in a language with greater flexibility.
So, what to do? Garder la foi, alors.
"But to be yourself is all that you can do..." -- Audioslave
The other night I grabbed a drink at a beer bar near Etienne-Marcel with a friend of mine (named Etienne -- mere coincidence). We got to talking about language and he was saying that what he hates about speaking English is that he can't express himself the way he naturally would. That he can't be himself in English because he has to speak as if he were a child. I started to agree with him.
While I do not know all of the words in the English language, I do know enough words (or understand the language sufficiently well enough to jimmy words that others who also know the language well will be able to comprehend what I mean to convey) to be able to say what I want or pretty close to it. But in French, I only know a handful of words. And the longer I'm here (not that I've been here for that long or will be here for that long), the more I realize how little French I know, but also the more English words fall out of my brain because I get so consumed with trying to come up with a French word for an English-based idea. It took me a week to remember the word "awning!" So much time had passed that I can't now recall what awning I had wanted to describe or talk about in the first place.
According to one of the other stagiaires with whom I work (she's not a legal intern, but we share an office nonetheless), the English language is estimated to be about 5x larger than the French language. Since she has a masters in translation, I'm going to choose to believe her.
So when Etienne said that he can't be himself in English and I started to agree with him about not being able to be myself in French, I actually changed my mind mid-nod remembering what la traductrice had said. (I realize the proceeding argument is assuming a lot. It's assuming that the only way we communicate is through words. It's assuming that the number of words in the language can be counted. It's assuming that slang isn't leveling out the differences in "size" of the "languages". It's assuming that the number of words is so correlated to the number [and number of uses] of meanings. It's assuming a lot. But whatever. Just roll with it.) Because arguably while I might not be able to be myself in French, Etienne has the opportunity to be more than himself in English. With more words to describe X, Y and Zed, Etienne may be able to give verbal facets to his express words that he otherwise could not do in his native tongue. Whereas I, being accustomed to having so many choices at my beck and call am now limited. Potentially even if I were to become fluent in French, I might still never be able to be myself because I was forged in a language with greater flexibility.
So, what to do? Garder la foi, alors.
promulgated by SWS2.1 at 08:37.
0 comments
________________________
|For the sad among you who are still tuning in...|
I just finished my second year of law school. Contrary to popular belief, I found the 2nd year to be significantly harder than the 1st year. But that was in keeping with what I've personally always said ("always" being only for the past 2 academic years: that law school is as hard as you make it). When I entered law school, I had intentionally accepted that I would not be at the top of the class so as that I could just enjoy the experience. I had the privilege of submitting myself to such mediocrity because of my membership in a special program at my school that would help me to get a great summer job as a 1L almost regardless of how well I did (well, with the assumption that at the very least I didn't fuck up entirely).
At the end of the 2L job hunt, I'd decided to go back to the firm I worked at as a 1L summer associate. But then events happened (if I've already described them in this forum you can go back and read and if I haven't, I don't feel like dwelling too much on the past) that made me reconsider that idea. So, with the possibility of interviewing as a 3L having appeared, I decided to reinvest myself in the possibility of doing well in law school, grade-wise. So I worked... and worked... and worked the Fall semester. And my grades reflect that effort. Yay! But I was exhausted going into the Spring semester. Combine that with getting super sick and taking courses that sounded great going in but proved to be painfully uninteresting, and the Spring final exam period was mostly an exercise in mitigating damages. Pun intended.
But I made it through. I think. Grades are still TBA. And now I'm at my firm's Paris office. Sans too much work to do, I'm going to be making occasioned occasional commentary on my observations of Paris and France generally. Or, once again, of being a Summer Associate. Or on whatever 'cause it's my blog and for the time being, at least, I'm feeling revitalized about updating it. And I'll cry if I want to.
I just finished my second year of law school. Contrary to popular belief, I found the 2nd year to be significantly harder than the 1st year. But that was in keeping with what I've personally always said ("always" being only for the past 2 academic years: that law school is as hard as you make it). When I entered law school, I had intentionally accepted that I would not be at the top of the class so as that I could just enjoy the experience. I had the privilege of submitting myself to such mediocrity because of my membership in a special program at my school that would help me to get a great summer job as a 1L almost regardless of how well I did (well, with the assumption that at the very least I didn't fuck up entirely).
At the end of the 2L job hunt, I'd decided to go back to the firm I worked at as a 1L summer associate. But then events happened (if I've already described them in this forum you can go back and read and if I haven't, I don't feel like dwelling too much on the past) that made me reconsider that idea. So, with the possibility of interviewing as a 3L having appeared, I decided to reinvest myself in the possibility of doing well in law school, grade-wise. So I worked... and worked... and worked the Fall semester. And my grades reflect that effort. Yay! But I was exhausted going into the Spring semester. Combine that with getting super sick and taking courses that sounded great going in but proved to be painfully uninteresting, and the Spring final exam period was mostly an exercise in mitigating damages. Pun intended.
But I made it through. I think. Grades are still TBA. And now I'm at my firm's Paris office. Sans too much work to do, I'm going to be making occasioned occasional commentary on my observations of Paris and France generally. Or, once again, of being a Summer Associate. Or on whatever 'cause it's my blog and for the time being, at least, I'm feeling revitalized about updating it. And I'll cry if I want to.
promulgated by SWS2.1 at 08:08.
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