I passed a Bar. And no, this isn't just another description in the life of a teetotaler--I had to take that joke so none of you would feel compelled to make it. It was the NY Bar, which is the hardest bar of all in many respects, because we're forced to take it in Albany. The Albany economy is entirely dependent upon Bar applicants gathering, like locusts, every summer--it's like Christmas, but with more suicide.
I feel like I've accomplished something, but I also felt that way finishing my first and only novel--which I incinerated. Not to say I'm going to burn down Albany--that would be arson, which I think is illegal.
[11:54:58 AM] Jay Goodman Tamboli says: God damnit. Why do I have technical problems whenever I try to get work done?
[11:56:16 AM] Scott says: I don't know. When was the last time you went to church?
[11:56:40 AM] Jay Goodman Tamboli says: I'm blaming sunspots.
[11:58:05 AM] Scott says: You can't blame sunspots, I'm already using them as the reason I haven't had sex in a year.
What's that? You didn't know I took the Bar? I wrote all about it here!
Ten minutes after finding out I passed the Bar, I changed my long-running position on licensure, which it turns out is awesome. Not only does it allow me to collect above market rents--which lawyers need because law school is so damned expensive--but it also keeps those who can't afford law school or Barbri from practicing law. This is good because poor people make bad choices anyway, and I know that because one week in college I ate Ramen noodles for a week, and that's the week I decided to major in music. Also your average poor person, usually cursed with some manner of hump or undeveloped siamese twin, will not fit into a decent suit. So the tailors are the real problem, and that's why they can't practice law either (even though they're called lawsuits).
In sum, remember when choosing a lawyer that I was the first one to finish the New York Bar exam, and though I probably didn't get the highest score, I got the not-highest score the fastest. So if you've got the choice between an attorney who will show up at 7 AM sharp, with an obviously freshly dry-cleaned suit, and me, who will be jogging fifteen minutes behind him while pulling on a shirt and cleaning up some stubble with an electric razor, remember: the other guy's smarter, of course, but I'm still competent. And a lot better rested. Plus I'm not going to judge you for running that red light and hitting that old lady--that's what this case is about, right? Or was that my other client?--because chances are I nailed two or three myself on the way over this morning.