Among other things, (get it) Inter Alia is a news and humor magazine printed and published to the web twice a month by a SBA organization that goes by the same name.
The whole purpose of I.A. is to provide you a break, a laugh and a little bit of information during your three years of law school (AKA purgatory). I.A. is also a forum for members of the law school community to rant or rave about law-related stuff.
I.A. is entirely funded and run by students. Students contribute content. Students edit the content. Students design the publication. And students complain about it.
If you didn’t get it, that whole last paragraph was about how students are needed to make I.A. possible. That means we need you!
Contributions work like this: you, as a student, write something that fits within the very laxs rules. Then, you e-mail the thing you wrote (we call them stories) to uiinteralia@gmail.com. That’s it. Simple huh?
You can find those rules, as well as recent issues of I.A. at www.uiinteralia.blogspot.com.
Also, new this year, students may advertise their student organization for $2 a column inch.
So get involved, start contributing, and fill I.A. with all that crazy stuff you’ve been storing up .
Any questions, contact Josh Studor (3L) or Eric Haley (2L) at uiinteralia@gmail.com.
Monday, August 27, 2007
So you've got a job at a big firm
by Michael Witry
I’m delighted to have the opportunity to say a few words to you kids down at Idaho, not least because I had always thought that Idaho was a hoax perpetuated by Rand McNally to sell atlases, and I was pleased to discover that apparently there really is an Idaho. Anyway, it was five years ago when I graduated from a law school so exclusive that its name is never spoken aloud and you must have your soul examined by the god Anubis to gain entry. I was one of the lucky ones, who used my contacts, my background and my ferocious networking skills to get a position here at Jay, Kaye, and Ellomenopee, which has been rated as the eighth best firm in America ten years running by the editors of Law Firm Vanity Press Magazine.
I understand that many of you, despite your inferiority to me, will soon be working at Big Firms, and I’ve compiled a short list of techniques to help you get to the top.
• Always make the senior partners feel appreciated. When I was younger, I tended to approach them with a smile and a handshake, but I’ve since moved on. Now, when a senior partner approaches, I stand at attention and blow on an antique bos’n’s whistle, then announce “Senior partner approaching!”
• Consider shaving your head. Daily shaves are much faster than hair maintenance, especially if you’re a woman, and the time saved there could be spent on something billable.
• Your office should contain some personal touches to impress your clients. If you have no personality, try paying a visit to the local elementary school. The garbage cans usually contain some ill-conceived artwork that you can display on your desk and imply belong to your children.
• Most big firms are located in big cities with many cultural opportunities. Unfortunately, those cultural opportunities take a lot of time and aren’t billable. Save some time by hanging around the exits and asking people to describe what they just saw.
• If you’re interested in marriage, I would recommend against ordering a Russian mail-order spouse. They’re pricey, the INS doesn’t like them, and other people will suspect you are unable to attract a spouse. Consider a North Korean spouse instead. They’re cheaper and are virtually indistinguishable from “legitimate” South Koreans.
• Everyone knows that lawyers can get in trouble for using drugs, but how can you keep up with the competition without a little boost? I don’t see anything in the Model Rules of Professional Conduct about energy drinks or herbal supplements. I like to get a mixture of seven or eight supplements in a candy dish and grab a fistful when I’m feeling tired.
• Sometimes judges and your opponents will imply that your work product isn’t up to snuff, merely because you were assigned to the project three hours before it was due. They just don’t understand big firm life. Defend your reputation by giving them copies of your firm’s recruiting guide. That’ll show them what a great lawyer you are.
• Make sure the music in your office isn’t too calm, lest it cause you to fall asleep. Sleep is for the weak. You don’t need it. I used to play Slavic folk dances over the speakers to keep me from dozing off, but I’ve since discovered a local band called The Sudden Loud Noise Experience.
• Paralegals and office help are the stairs on the ladder to success. Feel free to walk all over them.
• The occasional schizophrenic episode is normal. Seeking professional help would just reduce your billable hours, and how would you make partner then? Besides, I’ve found that the aliens from the planet Grebnulak are a great help in motion practice.
• You may notice that some of your old law school buddies aren’t in big firms and may appear to be happy. Ha! We’ll see who’s happy when you make partner, buy their bank, and foreclose on everything they own.
That’s just long enough to count as a publication on my resume, so I’ll cut off here with one last word for the wise: when the nukes start flying, big firm people will all get spots in the bunkers and the rest of you won’t.
I’m delighted to have the opportunity to say a few words to you kids down at Idaho, not least because I had always thought that Idaho was a hoax perpetuated by Rand McNally to sell atlases, and I was pleased to discover that apparently there really is an Idaho. Anyway, it was five years ago when I graduated from a law school so exclusive that its name is never spoken aloud and you must have your soul examined by the god Anubis to gain entry. I was one of the lucky ones, who used my contacts, my background and my ferocious networking skills to get a position here at Jay, Kaye, and Ellomenopee, which has been rated as the eighth best firm in America ten years running by the editors of Law Firm Vanity Press Magazine.
I understand that many of you, despite your inferiority to me, will soon be working at Big Firms, and I’ve compiled a short list of techniques to help you get to the top.
• Always make the senior partners feel appreciated. When I was younger, I tended to approach them with a smile and a handshake, but I’ve since moved on. Now, when a senior partner approaches, I stand at attention and blow on an antique bos’n’s whistle, then announce “Senior partner approaching!”
• Consider shaving your head. Daily shaves are much faster than hair maintenance, especially if you’re a woman, and the time saved there could be spent on something billable.
• Your office should contain some personal touches to impress your clients. If you have no personality, try paying a visit to the local elementary school. The garbage cans usually contain some ill-conceived artwork that you can display on your desk and imply belong to your children.
• Most big firms are located in big cities with many cultural opportunities. Unfortunately, those cultural opportunities take a lot of time and aren’t billable. Save some time by hanging around the exits and asking people to describe what they just saw.
• If you’re interested in marriage, I would recommend against ordering a Russian mail-order spouse. They’re pricey, the INS doesn’t like them, and other people will suspect you are unable to attract a spouse. Consider a North Korean spouse instead. They’re cheaper and are virtually indistinguishable from “legitimate” South Koreans.
• Everyone knows that lawyers can get in trouble for using drugs, but how can you keep up with the competition without a little boost? I don’t see anything in the Model Rules of Professional Conduct about energy drinks or herbal supplements. I like to get a mixture of seven or eight supplements in a candy dish and grab a fistful when I’m feeling tired.
• Sometimes judges and your opponents will imply that your work product isn’t up to snuff, merely because you were assigned to the project three hours before it was due. They just don’t understand big firm life. Defend your reputation by giving them copies of your firm’s recruiting guide. That’ll show them what a great lawyer you are.
• Make sure the music in your office isn’t too calm, lest it cause you to fall asleep. Sleep is for the weak. You don’t need it. I used to play Slavic folk dances over the speakers to keep me from dozing off, but I’ve since discovered a local band called The Sudden Loud Noise Experience.
• Paralegals and office help are the stairs on the ladder to success. Feel free to walk all over them.
• The occasional schizophrenic episode is normal. Seeking professional help would just reduce your billable hours, and how would you make partner then? Besides, I’ve found that the aliens from the planet Grebnulak are a great help in motion practice.
• You may notice that some of your old law school buddies aren’t in big firms and may appear to be happy. Ha! We’ll see who’s happy when you make partner, buy their bank, and foreclose on everything they own.
That’s just long enough to count as a publication on my resume, so I’ll cut off here with one last word for the wise: when the nukes start flying, big firm people will all get spots in the bunkers and the rest of you won’t.
Questseans
by Ty Bair
In which His Royal Highness Sean Beck, King of Mediasean and Arbitrasean, resolves other people’s disputes.
Dear Sean: How did you become King of Mediasean and Arbitrasean? -Confused in Menard
Dear Confused: Brutal war of succesean, then coronasean.
Dear Sean: I’m really big and pretty, but I’d like to be bigger and prettier. I work really hard in the gym, but I never seem to accomplish anything. You’re pretty ripped. Any advice? -Wants Enormous Legs in Latah.
Dear WELL: Regimentasean of weight repetiseans, in conjunctsean with hydrasean, protein ingestsean, and steroid injectsean.
Dear Sean: I’m confused about global warming. I’ve even heard it might be caused by your irrational hatred of almost everything. Shed some light on this for me. -Skeptical in Moscow.
Dear Skeptical: Total fabricasean! Warming caused by pollusean: internal combustsean, fuel evaporasean, factory emiseans.
Dean Sean: My friend left a frisbee golf game last semester to talk to some stupid client. And somehow I’m the one everyone hates! Should I be mad at him? -Almost Crying on the Ninth Hole.
Dear A.C.: We all make regrettable deciseans. My recommendasean is for benedictsean.
Dear Sean: This whole column is just a total ripoff of that old Adam Sandler Cajun Guy sketch! -Just Out of Sympathy for Hack writers.
Dear JOSH: So what’s your questsean? Anyway, isn’t most sincere form of flattery . . . imitasean?
In which His Royal Highness Sean Beck, King of Mediasean and Arbitrasean, resolves other people’s disputes.
Dear Sean: How did you become King of Mediasean and Arbitrasean? -Confused in Menard
Dear Confused: Brutal war of succesean, then coronasean.
Dear Sean: I’m really big and pretty, but I’d like to be bigger and prettier. I work really hard in the gym, but I never seem to accomplish anything. You’re pretty ripped. Any advice? -Wants Enormous Legs in Latah.
Dear WELL: Regimentasean of weight repetiseans, in conjunctsean with hydrasean, protein ingestsean, and steroid injectsean.
Dear Sean: I’m confused about global warming. I’ve even heard it might be caused by your irrational hatred of almost everything. Shed some light on this for me. -Skeptical in Moscow.
Dear Skeptical: Total fabricasean! Warming caused by pollusean: internal combustsean, fuel evaporasean, factory emiseans.
Dean Sean: My friend left a frisbee golf game last semester to talk to some stupid client. And somehow I’m the one everyone hates! Should I be mad at him? -Almost Crying on the Ninth Hole.
Dear A.C.: We all make regrettable deciseans. My recommendasean is for benedictsean.
Dear Sean: This whole column is just a total ripoff of that old Adam Sandler Cajun Guy sketch! -Just Out of Sympathy for Hack writers.
Dear JOSH: So what’s your questsean? Anyway, isn’t most sincere form of flattery . . . imitasean?
The Thrill of the (Ambulance) Chase
by Aaron Crary
It’s no secret that for the summer after my second year of law school I went to work for my father and his two partners at their law firm in Spokane. The interview process was tough, but with some good contacts and an exceedingly competitive resume prepared, they realized that I would be the best fit.
Naturally the men and their staff received me with suspicious warmth, but I was eager to learn and the awkward familiarity lasted only a relatively short time. I bounced around from projects early on, whether it was sorting through medical records, researching dog bites or helping the wrongfully accused keep their drivers’ licenses my intent was to waste no time in proving I was a worthy member of the team.
And things went well to start. I got along with all the staff. The lawyers had a lot of projects to keep me busy. I was progressing at a good pace. I found my first two years of law school at U of I had helped prepare me well for the real world practice of law.
But my true test for early lawyerhood came about a month and a half into the summer when I was called to learn a bit about the world of personal injury law. My dad is a personal injury lawyer. Naturally he is very familiar with all the “ambulance chaser” comments and the “one call that’s all” jokes, but he has learned to compose himself very well in this specialized area of practice. One day he approached me as I sat in my little intern cubicle and invited me to come along on some personal injury lawyerly business.
The day was mostly uneventful: a deposition, BS-ing with some other lawyers my dad’s age, and then a little father/son lawyer lunch. “Son I am real proud of you,” he interjected after a few solemn moments of silence while we sat at a Mexican restaurant for lunch. “You’ve been doing a great job here. I just want you to know I am real proud of you.” I nodded.
He continued. “You know son. I think I am going to take you up to Gonzaga to show you some things. You’ve been around long enough; I think you’re ready.”
“OK,” I responded, somewhat at a loss for words because I was not sure really what he had in mind. We finished lunch, hoped into the car and headed towards the local law school my dad and all his partners graduated from.
Upon arriving my 53 year old, gray haired father first took me on a car tour of the campus. I had been there before, but it was nice to see the school after so many years. The next stop was to the law school itself. Though it spent many years in tier 4, the school was very new and very nice inside. It made my wonder how the school had done so poorly in the past.
After spending a good hour inside the halls, my dad took me to our last location. I was somewhat confused and waited a good couple of minutes for my silent father to explain to me why we were at the university’s running track. He kept silent as if in waiting longer it would all make sense to me.
Nevertheless he finally did speak. But it was not a conversation that preceded, it was something like a declaration. “Aaron,” his voice rung. “As you know, there are people everyday who find themselves struggling with the faults and negligences of their closest brethren.”
“You also know that I practice personal injury law. And I do this because it is my goal to make right those who have suffered the wrongs of others in the only way I can. Justice, Aaron. Justice provides payment to those for the injuries others have caused them.”
“So son, that is why I bring you here today. Yes, you are here at the running track. I bring you here for a reason, one that you will understand as you grow and mature in your own practice of law. I can’t teach you the full understanding behind this, but what I can teach you now is that you must at all times keep your wits about you. Always be prepared Aaron; always be ready. Do you understand? Aaron, Do you understand?” He kept chanting. I nodded.
“Aaron do you understand!” he screamed. I yelled back, “Yes I understand!” I didn’t. He eyed me curiously. “If you understand Aaron then start running.”
“What” I asked.
“Run, Aaron run!” With no idea what I was doing I took off, sprinting along the outer rim of the track. I sprinted as hard as I could, no clue as to why, only intent on making my father happy. I ran many laps. I lost count how many times I ran around the track, but I do know I was getting close to passing out when my father finally pulled me over to the side. I was drooling and could hardly see straight.
“Good job Aaron. You worked hard. I knew you could do it.” I wasn’t sure what I had done or whether it was done well or not but I took my father’s word for it, whatever it meant.
My new suit was soaked full of sweat, but my father ignored this and embraced me, somehow proud of what I had done. We walked back to the car and we said very little to each other, him occasionally patting me on the back. I had not been this connected to my father in some time, the only problem was is that I didn’t know why. All I could gather was for some reason my trip to the Gonzaga law school and me sprinting around the track was somehow special to him.
We were getting close to the car. I was so tired and sweaty I resolved to figure out the true meaning of all this at another time. “Well, thanks dad,” I whispered, half looking in his direction. He said nothing in response, focused on something entirely out of our control. “Listen Aaron,” he hummed. I stopped. What was it; what was my dad now talking about?
Moments later I heard the cry of a distant emergency vehicle. Normally this would have meant nothing to me, but now there seemed some special significance. I waited moments longer to make sure my ears weren’t playing tricks on me. No, true enough it was an ambulance.
I began to focus. It all seemed to make sense now; somehow I had an understanding of what I must do. I waited for a few moments. When I could see the vehicle I bolted. I started running after the vehicle harder than I had ever run before. Any thoughts of my earlier trials were forgotten as I focused all my energy on catching that ambulance.
I could see in the distance where the vehicle was turning and I cut, an obvious move to get a direct route to the car. Yes, I made a good move. It was at a red light, waiting to turn in the direction I was now heading. There was no question; it would come right for me. It was within my grasp, yes, it was amazing I would have it that easily on my first outing. Just one turn past a building and I would have it.
I came to the building and turned as quick as I could, not faltering a step. As I looked around the corner I could see it, now getting ready to move through the green light; I was almost on it.
I sprinted, but unfortunately I did not make it. In turning the corner I saw it all fall away as my face went straight into the pavement. Everything went black. Moments later I woke up and saw the street woman that I had tripped over staring at me. “You ok man?” Tears welling up in my eyes as I wiped the blood from my forehead all I could do was shake my head.
My father came on the scene minutes later asking me if I was alright. I continued shaking my head then looked up, “Father, I have failed you,” I whispered. He bent down and picked me up, placing my arm over his shoulders. “No you didn’t Aaron. You did fine. It takes a long time to be a good ambulance chaser.”
He helped me back to the car, wiping the tears and blood from my face as we went.
It’s no secret that for the summer after my second year of law school I went to work for my father and his two partners at their law firm in Spokane. The interview process was tough, but with some good contacts and an exceedingly competitive resume prepared, they realized that I would be the best fit.
Naturally the men and their staff received me with suspicious warmth, but I was eager to learn and the awkward familiarity lasted only a relatively short time. I bounced around from projects early on, whether it was sorting through medical records, researching dog bites or helping the wrongfully accused keep their drivers’ licenses my intent was to waste no time in proving I was a worthy member of the team.
And things went well to start. I got along with all the staff. The lawyers had a lot of projects to keep me busy. I was progressing at a good pace. I found my first two years of law school at U of I had helped prepare me well for the real world practice of law.
But my true test for early lawyerhood came about a month and a half into the summer when I was called to learn a bit about the world of personal injury law. My dad is a personal injury lawyer. Naturally he is very familiar with all the “ambulance chaser” comments and the “one call that’s all” jokes, but he has learned to compose himself very well in this specialized area of practice. One day he approached me as I sat in my little intern cubicle and invited me to come along on some personal injury lawyerly business.
The day was mostly uneventful: a deposition, BS-ing with some other lawyers my dad’s age, and then a little father/son lawyer lunch. “Son I am real proud of you,” he interjected after a few solemn moments of silence while we sat at a Mexican restaurant for lunch. “You’ve been doing a great job here. I just want you to know I am real proud of you.” I nodded.
He continued. “You know son. I think I am going to take you up to Gonzaga to show you some things. You’ve been around long enough; I think you’re ready.”
“OK,” I responded, somewhat at a loss for words because I was not sure really what he had in mind. We finished lunch, hoped into the car and headed towards the local law school my dad and all his partners graduated from.
Upon arriving my 53 year old, gray haired father first took me on a car tour of the campus. I had been there before, but it was nice to see the school after so many years. The next stop was to the law school itself. Though it spent many years in tier 4, the school was very new and very nice inside. It made my wonder how the school had done so poorly in the past.
After spending a good hour inside the halls, my dad took me to our last location. I was somewhat confused and waited a good couple of minutes for my silent father to explain to me why we were at the university’s running track. He kept silent as if in waiting longer it would all make sense to me.
Nevertheless he finally did speak. But it was not a conversation that preceded, it was something like a declaration. “Aaron,” his voice rung. “As you know, there are people everyday who find themselves struggling with the faults and negligences of their closest brethren.”
“You also know that I practice personal injury law. And I do this because it is my goal to make right those who have suffered the wrongs of others in the only way I can. Justice, Aaron. Justice provides payment to those for the injuries others have caused them.”
“So son, that is why I bring you here today. Yes, you are here at the running track. I bring you here for a reason, one that you will understand as you grow and mature in your own practice of law. I can’t teach you the full understanding behind this, but what I can teach you now is that you must at all times keep your wits about you. Always be prepared Aaron; always be ready. Do you understand? Aaron, Do you understand?” He kept chanting. I nodded.
“Aaron do you understand!” he screamed. I yelled back, “Yes I understand!” I didn’t. He eyed me curiously. “If you understand Aaron then start running.”
“What” I asked.
“Run, Aaron run!” With no idea what I was doing I took off, sprinting along the outer rim of the track. I sprinted as hard as I could, no clue as to why, only intent on making my father happy. I ran many laps. I lost count how many times I ran around the track, but I do know I was getting close to passing out when my father finally pulled me over to the side. I was drooling and could hardly see straight.
“Good job Aaron. You worked hard. I knew you could do it.” I wasn’t sure what I had done or whether it was done well or not but I took my father’s word for it, whatever it meant.
My new suit was soaked full of sweat, but my father ignored this and embraced me, somehow proud of what I had done. We walked back to the car and we said very little to each other, him occasionally patting me on the back. I had not been this connected to my father in some time, the only problem was is that I didn’t know why. All I could gather was for some reason my trip to the Gonzaga law school and me sprinting around the track was somehow special to him.
We were getting close to the car. I was so tired and sweaty I resolved to figure out the true meaning of all this at another time. “Well, thanks dad,” I whispered, half looking in his direction. He said nothing in response, focused on something entirely out of our control. “Listen Aaron,” he hummed. I stopped. What was it; what was my dad now talking about?
Moments later I heard the cry of a distant emergency vehicle. Normally this would have meant nothing to me, but now there seemed some special significance. I waited moments longer to make sure my ears weren’t playing tricks on me. No, true enough it was an ambulance.
I began to focus. It all seemed to make sense now; somehow I had an understanding of what I must do. I waited for a few moments. When I could see the vehicle I bolted. I started running after the vehicle harder than I had ever run before. Any thoughts of my earlier trials were forgotten as I focused all my energy on catching that ambulance.
I could see in the distance where the vehicle was turning and I cut, an obvious move to get a direct route to the car. Yes, I made a good move. It was at a red light, waiting to turn in the direction I was now heading. There was no question; it would come right for me. It was within my grasp, yes, it was amazing I would have it that easily on my first outing. Just one turn past a building and I would have it.
I came to the building and turned as quick as I could, not faltering a step. As I looked around the corner I could see it, now getting ready to move through the green light; I was almost on it.
I sprinted, but unfortunately I did not make it. In turning the corner I saw it all fall away as my face went straight into the pavement. Everything went black. Moments later I woke up and saw the street woman that I had tripped over staring at me. “You ok man?” Tears welling up in my eyes as I wiped the blood from my forehead all I could do was shake my head.
My father came on the scene minutes later asking me if I was alright. I continued shaking my head then looked up, “Father, I have failed you,” I whispered. He bent down and picked me up, placing my arm over his shoulders. “No you didn’t Aaron. You did fine. It takes a long time to be a good ambulance chaser.”
He helped me back to the car, wiping the tears and blood from my face as we went.
Quotable Quotes
“‘French wine.’ - It even sounds British.”
“95% of statistics are made up on the spot.”
“Intelligent, articulate, not bad company - but seriously, tiny tiny dark little heart.”
“We all know that suspects tear their clothes off and run - this is the American way.”
“Would you feel differently if you
were a Japanese-American?”
“I am a Japanese-Ameri- can.”
“You should raise your hand and yell ‘Bingo’.”
“Heroic efforts not to poop”
“I’m just here for the cookies.”
“With the chainsaw - what happened?”
“It cut him.”
“So, Cinco de Mayo is on May 5th.”
“All those who know the law of Evidence raise your hands. Get those hands down!”
“Which presidential candidate right now is raising the most money?”
“She’s a man.”
“You’re now the equivalent of a 24 year-old woman.”
-said to 27 year-old male, regarding gender maturity
“That’s the only thing I’m gonna know, but I’m gonna know the shit out of it.”
“95% of statistics are made up on the spot.”
“Intelligent, articulate, not bad company - but seriously, tiny tiny dark little heart.”
“We all know that suspects tear their clothes off and run - this is the American way.”
“Would you feel differently if you
were a Japanese-American?”
“I am a Japanese-Ameri- can.”
“You should raise your hand and yell ‘Bingo’.”
“Heroic efforts not to poop”
“I’m just here for the cookies.”
“With the chainsaw - what happened?”
“It cut him.”
“So, Cinco de Mayo is on May 5th.”
“All those who know the law of Evidence raise your hands. Get those hands down!”
“Which presidential candidate right now is raising the most money?”
“She’s a man.”
“You’re now the equivalent of a 24 year-old woman.”
-said to 27 year-old male, regarding gender maturity
“That’s the only thing I’m gonna know, but I’m gonna know the shit out of it.”
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