As the upperclassmen's first week of classes drags along, and we stroll into the law school completely unphased by the environment that surrounds us, I can't help but think of the 1Ls, who are well into their second week of classes and probably sitting in Civil Procedure somewhere freaking out.  Undoubtedly, they're tapping their hi-liters, bouncing their knees, and thinking: "What the hell is going on!?!?  How am I supposed to get all of this work done in one evening?  Everyone is so much smarter than I am.  Everyone else gets it!"  Well, yet again, young ones, you are wrong.  Everyone else is not smarter than you and no, not everyone else gets it.  I promise.  Some people fake it better than others, but really, you're all like helpless little guppies who have found themselves out of water and are now flailing desperately for oxygen.  It might take you a full semester to figure out what exactly is going on, and that's completely normal.  Plus, what is interesting about 1L year is that you have no choice in selecting the classes you must take.  Therefore, because the 1L classes encompass such a broad spectrum of the law, someone is going to be better at something than you are, and - that's right! - you are going to be better at something than someone else.  It's a give-and-take.

Also, since you have now completed a full week of classes, it is likely that you have witnessed or been a victim of the "Socratic Method."  Otherwise known as "cold-calling," which must have earned its name because the poor soul who is called upon inevitably freezes once he is singled out, this process is a quintessential characteristic of law school.  It is an invaluable educational tool, in my opinion, but absolutely terrifying nonetheless.  A professor scours the classroom, head on a swivel, eyes slightly squinted, searching for that one, oblivious student who is updating his facebook profile or writing "Mrs. Justin Timberlake" on her notebook instead of listening to the scintillating discussion about Twombly that the professor has meticulously prepared for class.  And then - aha! - the professor has found the perfect, unassuming, candidate.  "Mr. Spencer Pratt, what was the holding?" The professor asks.  And the student sits there, like a deer-in-headlights, unable to even remember what the word "holding" means (if he ever knew at all), suddenly stricken with laryngitis, struggling to remember how to speak.  The other students squirm in their seats, eyes glued on their classmate, anxious for his answer, some secretly hoping their colleague blows it so they can swoop in like vultures and prove their superiority, others secretly hoping he answers correctly so they don't become the next piece of roadkill.  It's a tense moment for all parties involved.

I, however, was one of the lucky ones.  My last name is not one that appears easy to pronounce on the first try, and for that reason, I often escaped Socrates' grasp until I offered the pronunciation of Cavaliero or until the end of the semester when the supply of simpler names had been depleted.  Unfortunately, one of my favorite people here is not nearly as lucky.  Ms. Elizabeth Edwards.  She might as well have tattooed a bullseye on her forehead.  It's just too easy.  Really - it's like waiving a piece of raw meat in front of a tiger who hasn't eaten in weeks.  Ms. Edwards must have been called on in every single class the first few weeks of school (and, of course, responded with poise and eloquence) while the Setareh Samiis, Ryan Aggergaards, and Anthony Elghossains sat back in their chairs relaxing.  It took us a little while to discover this phenomenon, but it still amazes all of us.  Of course, some professors choose not to engage in the Socratic method, and others are abnormally good at pronouncing last names, so this is not a fail-proof system by any means.  But if your last name has as many letters as supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, you should be able to rest easy for the rest of this week at least.