My head is fuzzy. My temples are throbbing more painfully than Fabio’s parts in those books of his. And I have facts, objections and numbers dancing through my head. It was a kitchen knife! Relevance! Improper character evidence! 403! 404! 609!
For me, this could mean only one thing: preparation for this semester’s off-campus mock trial competition has begun.
Since I had the opportunity to compete earlier this year during my 2L Spring semester and to see the Boyfriend kill it during his own mock trial competitions, I thought and hoped that this semester things would come much more easily. That I would be less Legally Blonde (during the first part of the movie) and more My Cousin Vinny (during the second half of the movie, of course).
I’m a third year. I should totally have about two-thirds the skills of practicing attorneys, right?
No such luck, nerds. I have not become some slick courtroom savant over the summer, nor have all the Federal Rules of Evidence planted themselves conveniently in my head.
Nope. I still have to labor over how exactly to order questions in my direct examination, and how to cross examine a witness with the ease exhibited by our trial coaches, who dance around witnesses as gracefully as Fred Astaire and as lethally as Muhammad Ali.
Still, despite my fuzzy brain and the even fuzzier points of the Federal Rules of Evidence, mock trial has been one of my favorite parts of law school. Despite the hard work required to cure me of my ignorance on some topics, and the time taken away from watching my K-Dramas, I love, love, love it!
Let the trials begin!
After an incredibly long hiatus – due mainly to the Blawgirl questioning the purpose and value of this blawg and blawging in general – the Chronicles of a Blawgirl is up and running once again! The Blawgirl still questions the value of blawging, but thinks that it would be fun to write down her experiences with her third and final year of law school, and with the California Barzam, for her mom and posterity.
You’ll notice there have been some minor changes around here, notably the addition of a “Clipbook” to the navigation bar, and a handy, dandy bar at the bottom of your browser that allows you to find/stalk the Blawgirl on the Interwebz if you so choose.
This post finds the Blawgirl several weeks into the first semester of her final year in law school after a summer of sitting/broiling on the freeway to get to her internship at the ACLU of Southern California office in Downtown L.A. All in all, she would take the busyness of these first several weeks over having to crawl on the 5 freeway any day.
These past weeks have seen her celebrating her 20-ish birthday, organizing the in-house competition for the mock trial team, reading/briefing cases in her remedies and constitutional law classes, learning the ins and outs of California’s Domestic Violence Protection Act for a clinical class, piecing together documents for her Moral Character Application, and putting together this loverly website.
Somewhere in there, she’s also started reading book three of George R.R. Martin’s “A Song of Ice and Fire” series, started swimming at Corona del Mar, continued Turbo Kickboxing and Zumba-ing, and picked up a road bike to start riding on the Santa Ana River trail here in Orange County, Calif.
Dayyum. It’s even tiring just reading about it! Anywho, the Blawgirl will mosdef add blawging to the list of things she will be doing. She can’t promise that she will post every single bowel movement of her mind, but she can promise to try to be as regular as Jamie Lee Curtis.
Photo via icanhazcheezburger.com
As promised, here are photos of The Place, a nine-story building that houses a gym on the eighth, seventh and sixth floors. In addition to a cool gym, The Place also boasts one of the best views of the Independence Monument on Sihanouk Blvd. — the tall monument that you see in the background of photos two and three — that I’ve seen in Phnom Penh. If you work out during the day, you can see the tuktuks, SUVs, motos and bike riders negotiating traffic below. At night, you can see the monument lit up in lights and hear the honking of horns.
If gorgeous views aren’t your thing, you can hang out in the Internet cafe on the sixth floor, check your email on some nice desktop Macs, and order a juice or coffee drink, or hang out in the lobby on the eighth floor and watch Cartoon Network on the flatscreen televisions nested in the ceiling.
Apparently, the building is somewhat exclusive, as the gym is the one of choice for some of the wealthier folks here. A two-month membership was fairly affordable, but check out the warnings posted next to the elevator. You can’t bring your gun, your bodyguard, boxer briefs or your Doberman. Fancy.
I also noticed that you can’t bring a camera. Whoops.
Photo: Julie Anne Ines / Flickr
I hope this isn’t the beginning of a trend, but for finals last semester and for finals this semester Undergrad Neighbor has done something unintentionally, yet incredibly annoying. Last semester, the day before my Torts final, it was inviting his douchey, possibly hipster friends to talk about Picasso, smoke douchey herbal cigarettes, and scream like Howard Dean while running into walls.
What could possibly be worse than that?
One word, nerds: Drums. And not just any drum kit, mind you. From what I gather, Undergrad Neighbor has either borrowed or has recently purchased a digital drum kit, which means that there is one drum set with a million preset kits on it. And he’s going through every single one of them.
Every. Single. One.
Now, I wouldn’t mind if he had drum skills so crazy mad that he could play the dress and undies off a feminist groupie, but that is not the case, my friends. All I’ve been hearing for the past hour or so is “bass, bass, bass, bass-snare … high hat!” tried with all the different kits that came with the drums.
To grasp my level of annoyed, think Rock Band on the easy setting played by a rhythmically challenged kitty cat, minus any potential cute factor. “But kitty cats have no hands, much less the manual dexterity afforded by thumbs!” you say.
Puppies, kittens, unicorns and rainbows.
I’ve just returned from learning about and being immunized against all the nasties that could possibly hitch a ride on my insides during my trip to Cambodia, and, to be honest, for some reason it made me feel a bit like a super finicky, overly squeamish, ugly American.
I mean, as a child, when I visited the Philippine provinces – the place where my folks grew up and where I was born – my parents threw caution to the wind, didn’t get shots, and allowed me and my brothers to chase after chickens, pet the local wildlife, brush our teeth with the water from a water pump, wear shorts, tank tops and chinelas (flip-flops), and order food from the street vendors. The most we returned home with were several mosquito bites, super dark tans, and fairy stories about the little, brown, bearded men who lived in the hill in front of my uncle’s old house.
No puking. No chills. No sweats. No crazy runs. Definitely none of the horrors described in the literature given to me by the vaccination company, which specializes in travel immunizations.
Got Hepatitis A? Get ready to have flu-like symptoms, jaundice and the runs. Got typhoid? Get ready for high fever, stomach pains, and, you guessed it, the runs. Got polio? Get ready for nothing, cause you ain’t moving after you get that ish. For good measure, whatever god you believe in will probably also throw in the runs and a bite from a rabid, ankle-biting raccoon or monkey because you were dumb enough to forgo immunizations before traveling abroad,
Yeah. Sounds unpleasant. But, to quote Disney’s “The Little Mermaid”, how could a world that makes such wonderful things be bad? Just look at that glorious photo!
But, as they say, better safe than sorry.
Photo: tylerdurden1 / Flickr
About The Chronicles of a BlawgirlThis blawg follows Julie Anne Ines as she continues her law school journey as a 3L in Fall 2011. Learn more about her here. Find/stalk her online profiles using the social toolbar at the bottom of your browser. Email her at ja_ines (at) msn (dot) com. Thank you for reading!
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