Excitement is getting an interview with an employer for a competitive position.

Frustration is having that interview rescinded because you're one level too low on the law school totem pole.

*harumph*

who's your favorite person in history?

Yay! I'm learning about the tort of intentional infliction of emotional distress (curb your enthusiasm). Specifically, I'm reading about Huster Magazine v. Falwell, in which an ad parody appears in Hustler suggesting that Falwell's first sexual encounter was "a drunken incestuous rendezvous with his mother in an outhouse." The Supreme Court held that this did not amount to an intentional infliction of emotion distress, and writes:

Were we to hold otherwise, there can be little doubt that political cartoonists and satirists would be subjected to damages awards without any showing that their work falsely defamed its subject. [...]

"The political cartoon is a weapon of attack, of scorn and ridicule and satire; it is least effective when it tries to pat some politician on the back. It is usually as welcome as a bee sting and is always controversial in some quarters." Long, The Political Cartoon: Journalism's Strongest Weapon, The Quill, 56, 57 (Nov. 1962).

Several famous examples of this type of intentionally injurious speech were drawn by Thomas Nast, probably the greatest American cartoonist to date, who was associated for many years during the post-Civil War era with Harper's Weekly. In the pages of that publication Nast conducted a graphic vendetta against William M. "Boss" Tweed and his corrupt associates in New York City's "Tweed Ring." It has been described by one historian of the subject as "a sustained attack which in its passion and effectiveness stands alone in the history of American graphic art." M. Keller, The Art and Politics of Thomas Nast 177 (1968). Another writer explains that the success of the Nast cartoon was achieved "because of the emotional impact of its presentation. It continuously goes beyond the bounds of good taste and conventional manners." C. Press, The Political Cartoon 251 (1981).

Despite their sometimes caustic nature, from the early cartoon portraying George Washington as an ass down to the present day, graphic depictions and satirical cartoons have played a prominent role in public and political debate. Nast's castigation of the Tweed Ring, Walt McDougall's characterization of presidential candidate James G. Blaine's banquet with the millionaires at Delmonico's as "The Royal [55] Feast of Belshazzar," and numerous other efforts have undoubtedly had an effect on the course and outcome of contemporaneous debate. Lincoln's tall, gangling posture, Teddy Roosevelt's glasses and teeth, and Franklin D. Roosevelt's jutting jaw and cigarette holder have been memorialized by political cartoons with an effect that could not have been obtained by the photographer or the portrait artist. From the viewpoint of history it is clear that our political discourse would have been considerably poorer without them.

how property relates to me

Today I learned about deeds in property. I figured out how to convey my house quickly if I need some extra cash, say, in a high-stakes poker game. This is interactive learning at its best.

I also learned that property case law involves many husbands who tried and failed to prevent their would-be widows from getting their land. Tsk tsk. Good thing I'll be a lawyer. No one's taking nothin' away from me.

I wonder how Little Mike is doing. He must be in his third year now. I am very proud of him.

I'm always slightly disturbed when I browse in the women's magazines section of the bookstore. Along the top shelves are magazines devoted to weddings. Directly underneath are the ones for prom. I think of how much money these companies make off of the fantasies of women and girls for "that one special night," and it makes me slightly nauseous.

That being said, I'm a little embarassed by my ignorance of most things bridal. Like the nice girlfriend Adrienne is, she invited me to a bridal show last year. I promptedly said no. If you asked me to list diamond cuts, I would only know princess and (as of tonight) pear. Ask me to point them out in a jewelry store, and I would be lost. Looking through wedding magazines for me is like looking through FHM -- helpful for undertanding this other "species" of human but ultimately irrelevant to my thinking.

My mom created this monster. She thought she married too young and instilled this desire to get married later in my sister and me. Actually, now that I think about it, my sister buys wedding magazines for fun. Okay. So it's only me. If I were single now or if I were dating a commitment-phobe, I would be screwed.

I will likely change as more friends get married, as I get further away from college. For now, I'm content with my blissful existence and take comfort in knowing the few things I do want out of my wedding: lots of flowers, all my friends and family, a real waltz with my husband, more flowers, and, if I'm lucky, an ocean view.

happy to be a 1.5L

During the last half of finals, I was a fog of semi-depression. I took practice test after practice test for Contracts, but once it came time to perform, I choked. The constant tap-tap-tapping of keyboards blared past my earplugs. My eyes kept diverting to the screen next to mine. Thoughts of offer and acceptance were quickly displaced by questions like "Why are all these people going to the bathroom????" And once the proctor called time, I threw my materials onto her desk and ran to my car. After months of scoffing at people who couldn't take the pressure, I sat in the garage and cried. It was the lowest I felt in a while (which, thank God, testifies to how fortunate I have been in the past few years ...)

After a tearful venting session with Gary, I bought ice cream and rented "Angels in America" in a perverse attempt to purge these feelings of inadequacy. I still had two tests left, dammit, and one session of stupidity wasn't going to corrode my entire semester.

Even though I felt better about the next tests, and even though finals anxiety turned into winter break glee, a cloud still hung over my head of what doors my grades would quickly close. "Maybe I can pursue a career in radio," I thought. "Or maybe I can start a business. Oh, why didn't I just become a doctor because really, what good can my legal theories do for people like those affected by the tsunami?"

I was able to forget about these thoughts momentarily when I arrived in Chicago. I was ready to re-connect with friends from the not-so-distant past and with a place which has essentially been my adult home. I didn't have to worry about grades and my future because it was just too much fun to be silly again, to spend the day watching a humongous TV, to eat food with bibs, and to re-acquaint myself with my friends' various states of intoxication.

But then people went back to work, and I was left again with my new companions, the Ugly Red Casebooks. Former colleagues asked about finals and grades, and my throat constricted. "How's law school going?" they ask, and all I could muster was a faint smile and shrug "It's okay."

I wish I could say that these negative feelings gave way to a mature realization that grades are insignificant in the grand scheme of life, but alas, my mood remains hopelessly tied to those damned letters. I got a grade back on Sunday, and life doesn't seem so somber (although the never-ending rain here creates that effect). I'm ready for this new semester -- if only I wouldn't fall asleep reading Marbury v. Madison.

I didn't share my thoughts about my contracts exam when it happened because it felt too self-indulgent to mourn my grades -- and it still does. Then again, isn't a blog by definition an act of self-indulgence?