Franklin Gordon Bynum

I’m going to try to write a hundred or two words every day as I prepare for the bar exam.  This is fairly ambitious, as I’ve never, ever posted here daily, let alone during such an, ahem, busy time.  But this is important to chronicle, so here I go.

I went to my first class yesterday, a makeup.  Mistake #1 was thinking that I could knock out two classes in one day.  I went to one of the makeups, on videotape at the Barbri office, and was totally exhausted.  I haven’t spent that much time sitting in class continuously in years, but more difficult than that was taking notes almost the entire time.  I write fifteen or so pages of notes by the end, which must be some kind of personal best.

Today was my first live class.  It felt great to begin a daily routine again in New York.  Getting on the F train every morning is going to be so much more pleasant than any of my morning routines in Los Angeles.  I got a cup of cart coffee, my old usual: small, milk, no sugar.  I’d love to be more like a local and get a “regular” coffee, milk and two sugars, but that’s just entirely too much sugar.  I love cart coffee, even if it sucks.  The cart nearest the class site gets points off for not having the blue “We Are Happy to Serve You” cups.

I snagged a pretty sweet seat in the back.  I recently listened to a live episode of a Prairie Home Companion broadcast from the same theater, and as the lecture began I wished in vain that Garrison Keillor would sing me a song instead of Vincent Alexander reciting New York Practice rules.  Alas, though, Americana is not a subject on the Bar Exam.

Today, instead of taking notes on a blank page, we had an outline prepared for us where we filled in blanks.  One advantage to this, aside from it being less work, is that sometimes I can predict where the professor is about to explain something insignificant that won’t be written down, and then get a brief moment to stare into space and think about something different.  Such moments are hard to come by in BarBri class; I’ve never been so thankful for ten or fifteen seconds to think about where the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts is.

But then I’m jolted back by a command to write, write.  Everything is repeated.  I haven’t worked this hard and thought so little since I rented cars, which was, coincidentally, my summer job the last time I moved here.  The city has a special way of making your first summer hellish, I suppose.  Onward, I go.