Differences

Tonight, as I sipped and ate dinner downtown with two attorneys (former students of mine) who do not mind being blogged about, habits and all, it struck me how different the world of the law prof is (the average one, or at least me, I am not intending to generalize, so do not tell me that this is not your experience) from that of, say, the social science prof with respect to our conversations with students (for the most part, I know that there are exceptions, do not write and note for me the exceptions, yes yes, you are unique, I am not writing about you, only about me). In graduate school, the profs are fixtures for an extended period of time in the life and professional development of the grad student (six years? more?). As students slowly progress toward faculty status, the divisional lines starts to blur. And in anticipation of that, they actually blur quite early. Students wont admit this – they tend to distinguish between THEM and us (remember, I was once one of you, I speak from experience) – but all this is a pretence, because in reality, grades and letters of recommendation notwithstanding, boundaries are not clearly defined, in the domain of social interaction, between THEM and us.

In Law School, they are. I have to say this: no matter how stern my demeanor on the first day of class, the law student will quickly figure out (google and find the blog, for one thing) that I am one of the more approachable law profs around. Some call me “Nina” from day one (you could not do that to everyone). I understand. I like the prof title, but I shrug with indifference at those who choose to bypass it. Yet, in spite of thes degrees of informality, I know better. For example, bonded as I am to my small classes (we tell stories on break, we comment on each other’s eating habits – yes you, I am talking about the macaroni pizza you munch on each Wednesday, which makes us jealous and wistful), we would not, I don't think, go out to karaoke together. Somehow doing this with law students seems wrong (even though I did, smoke my one and only cigarette in the last 25 years with you guys out on the balcony this fall).

BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT

… then comes graduation. And my wonderful students become lawyers. And they write to me and call me and we have dinners and drinks and they report on the professional shenanigans out there and most of all (and this is so different from grad students), so many of them stay in town. I watch them surpass me in their ability to quickly provide a service and I AM SO PROUD! I ask them questions and even though they are half my age (just about, really!), they are my friends, suddenly, unequivocally.

God, I love my job.

holly, nina, sara -- lawyers in pink and black 

Teaching on a roll

Sometimes I come into class and I have my materials set before me and my lecture notes and texts marked with post-its. My seating chart is ready, my first page of notes is underlined properly, drawing attention to the important points that need to be emphasized before the day is done. And then a student offers an interesting (and provocative) observation and the notes suddenly seem redundant, unimportant, because the burning issue has just been framed in exactly the way you want it to be framed and the discussion takes off. And it is a worthwhile discussion because there are strong arguments to be made on both sides and suddenly I hear students making them. And they continue to make them after class.

Today was such a day.

Blogger dinner: tying up loose ends

[Posts below explain cast of bloggers]

It wasn’t billed as a karaoke night, but if you put Brito and Freese in the same room for more than five minutes, one of them will mention singing. And the other will surely oblige.

Oscar and I complained bitterly about the absence of cool music, but in the end we could not resist a moment on stage. Oscar even played the guitar (though he could have been playing row row row your boat continuously and no one would have noticed; occasionally when someone would look up, he’d mumble something about the guitar being grossly out of tune). Bozzo’s humming turned into out-loud singing. The “I’m going to go along with the whole odd lot of you” moment belonged to Althouse, who tried hard to Get Stuff Done in spite of the noise (I cannot call all that we belted into the mike singing). Oh, and a door prize to Brito who enticed me to dance along in the moments when I wasn’t the back-up girl to their music. Ooooo, weee, dooo dah DAH!

Thank you, Brito, for the dinner. It was a supremely wonderful meal. Each work day should end like this.

Yummy chicken with tomatoes, olives, ricotta... and she only had two hours to cook dinner for us 

How many bottles of wine on the wall, how many bottles of wine... 

Eyes closed, mikes held tight, melodies bursting forth with passion and...nerve.