Apr. 27th, 2004
Well, I wrote my Property exam. And it was not good. I think I did OK in the essay questions and the multiple choice, but the short answer section really killed me. I could not for the life of me figure out exactly what present or future interests people had, what flaws there were in the grants and wills, and whether the Rule Against Perpetuities applied to any of it.
Maybe if I'd had Paul Kopell staying up till 3am last night explaining the RAP to me like he did for Jack McCoy, I might have done a little better. Too bad he's in prison. And not a real person.
Anyway, I've made an appointment to see the A. Dean about the make-up exam period. Ugh. I almost hope he'll say no, so that I don't have to keep studing Property.
Oh well. On to Legislation!
Maybe if I'd had Paul Kopell staying up till 3am last night explaining the RAP to me like he did for Jack McCoy, I might have done a little better. Too bad he's in prison. And not a real person.
Anyway, I've made an appointment to see the A. Dean about the make-up exam period. Ugh. I almost hope he'll say no, so that I don't have to keep studing Property.
Oh well. On to Legislation!
Make Way for Geek Girl
Apr. 27th, 2004 05:02 pmSo, I'm finally studying for Legislature, and... it's weird. I'm actually really interested in this. It's precise and technical and somewhat dry, but fun. It's kind of like English Grammar on speed. Parsing out conjunctions and subjects and objects and right-branching and left-branching sentences and nominalizations and... wheee! For some reason, it's quite challenging, not tedious. It's like I'm being forced to play word games.
Close your eyes and picture a stereotypical parochial school teacher from the early twenties. Let's call her Sister Uvula. There she is, with her starched wimple, gleefully rapping the knuckles of any child who dares to misplace a modifier or dangle a participle. Taking delight in what others dread, unable to understand why they don't share her joy.
I think I was her in my previous life.
Close your eyes and picture a stereotypical parochial school teacher from the early twenties. Let's call her Sister Uvula. There she is, with her starched wimple, gleefully rapping the knuckles of any child who dares to misplace a modifier or dangle a participle. Taking delight in what others dread, unable to understand why they don't share her joy.
I think I was her in my previous life.