"In vacant or in pensive mood..." I am: Bekah; 24; Law Student / Favorite Things: Carbs (so there!), Johnny Damon, Smiling at babies, Grilled cheese, Comfortable silence / Favorite Supreme Court Justice: Brennan / Favorite Wilson: Owen by an inch / Today's Special: Song: Elliott Smith, "Bled White"; Quote: "You know, there's like a butt-load of gangs at this school. This one gang kept wanting me to join because I'm pretty good with a bowstaff." Please love me: mmbekah@yahoo.com

 
The Telepathic Method

Law professors all have different teaching styles, and I think I've been exposed to most of them. I've had professors who like to just lecture, and then sometimes call on a few eager students who like to throw their two cents in. I've had professors who run down the class list, call on students in alphabetical order, ask one terse question, answer it themselves, and move on. And I've had professors who employ that thing we like to call the Socratic Method, which basically involves speaking only in questions and trying to squeeze answers out of students like dirty water from a mop. I promise, it's even more fun than it sounds. But I've never had a professor quite like the one I have now, who has developed his own version of the Socratic Method which involves the expectation of telepathy.

This is what happens. The Professor asks a question--a broad question, with many possible interpretations--and about 14 students raise their hand to answer. Then, one by one, he picks off their answers with "Weeell, not exactly," or "hmm, I suppose that's one way to look at it...anyone else?" This goes on for a painfully long time--like a movie where there are like 5 plausible ways to end it, but it keeps going and going until you forget what the plot was to begin with. And the end of this period of questioning is always the same: no one gives him a satisfactory answer, and he finally lets everyone know what he's driving at...but only after making a few people feel like asses along the way.

You may recognize this method as a variation on "hiding the ball"--a teaching tool that law professors use as part of the Socratic Method to make the students come up with the answer on their own. Except he doesn't "hide the ball," he buries the ball 6 feet under and then lets students set off land mines by trying to dig for it. I wanted to raise my hand and ask, "What color am I thinking of right now?" Or better yet, "There are 37 yellow monkeys dancing in my head--what song are they dancing to?" I mean, come on! If you are a law professor, the students already know that you are a brilliant person. You don't appear more brilliant when you concoct elaborate questions with answers so specific and nuanced that only your brain could come up with them. The only good part about it is that some poor annoying bastards in the class keep stepping up to bat like 6 or 7 times a class, only to be shot down each time. Maybe I'm a sick person, but sometimes that makes me feel good.


posted by Bekah at 8:46 AM :: |

 
Come Together

You know that part of the movie where the main character is walking around and suddenly there is only silence and everything around him starts moving very slowly and there's just this look of blankness and helplessness on his face as the world soundlessly goes on around him? I've been feeling like that a lot lately. In the halls, I kind of float up above myself and watch as I bump into a roaming pack of 1Ls or have a conversation with a professor about letters of recommendation, nodding and smiling away. I tried to go out a few times this weekend, but I consistently ended up feeling too detached to function in a social setting.

That person who is in her last year of law school and who is going to classes and revising a Comment that she wrote and who is applying for clerkships and everything--that person is me. And yet, I can't seem to actually convince myself that I am her and she is me and we are all together, etc. It's like I'm applying for fake jobs and going to fake classes, and soon I'm going to wake up and be 11 again, eating peanut butter crackers and watching a horrendously edited version of The Breakfast Club on TBS not understanding a goddamn thing anyone is saying and waiting for my friend to come over and catch crawfish in the creek behind my house. And when I tell myself that those thoughts are ridiculous, and that real life has to start sometime and I can't hide behind my novels or philosophy books or law books forever, I get angry and then I get sad. The world is a really fucking hard place to live in! I just want to be able to hide from it some more.


posted by Bekah at 8:20 PM :: |