Tuesday, September 18, 2007

The first three rows are the splash zone.

In a timely fashion, a note on intent & fashion, just when we were discussing the same in torts (not the fashion).

Speaking of Torts:
The vile little man in the front row (isn't he sitting in every front row, in law schools across the country?) had a bit of a rough time of it yesterday. Not that he didn't deserve it- trust me, he did- but it was sort of an unfortunate day none the less. You see, our vile friend had some exceedingly strong opinions on liability- or, more specifically, corporations.

Aside: Roommate has begun referring to him as "dirty pinko commie." Roommate does have exceptional personal judgment, so I'm afraid I can't defend.

Since these corporations are willing to throw gobs and gobs of money at him (the better to afford his pastel Brooks Brothers with-no one said he was an honest commie), I'm not certain what his beef is. Nonetheless: we spent the better part of 30 minutes (better because he was only panting with expectation, as opposed to actually spouting) watching his frail little arm creep up...up....higher...And yet, no response from the professor.

Our Torts professor is what I imagine Milton's Satan might have been, albeit not as well dressed. Genial and clever, he will actually burn your soul out if you make eye contact with him. He's got quite a little list of achievements behind him, ones which really only get handed out to the devastatingly charming and dastardly. To the perturbation of his class, he will shame you before you really can come to grips with what he's doing- Vile Little Man simply begs for it, in a manner which suggests he doesn't fully understand what is happening.

So, our literary hero ultimately turned on Vile Little Man, who was so distraught in his plea for attention he nearly fell out of his chair:
"I feel I must respond!" Vile Little Man proclaimed. Maybe it was the archly raised eyebrow that sent such a tumult of explanation out of him, but it became clear quite quickly that no one (NO one) gets himself worked up into a frenzy like the little man. With every word that came spilling out, it became equally clear that:
a) he'd talked himself into circles
b) he was getting silently mocked, again.

Rough luck. Certainly, debate in law school is a marvelous thing- that said: until you've mastered "wax on, wax off," don't go taking swings at Mr. Miyagi, and stay out of the splash zone if you can't keep your mouth shut.


All rights reserved to my snotty and generally self-deprecating writing. And if your comments bother me, I'll delete them. That's right, pumpkin.
...How dreary—to be—Somebody!
How public—like a Frog—
To tell one's name—the livelong June—
To an admiring Bog!
-- Emily Dickinson