Law School....

I have been accepted into the Western New Englane College School of Law for the Fall of 2005 and have been awarded a $19,000 annual scholarship and, in order to keep said scholarship, only need to remain in the top 50% of my class.

The problem? WNEC School of Law is rated as a Tier 4 school by US News and World Report's Law School rankings.

While I am not a big believer in school rankings, there are some things I do believe.

Firstly, if your school does happen to be a Tier 1 (Top 100) school in their rankings, your school if probably pretty good.

Secondly, if your school happens to be a Tier 4 school in their rankings, then your school might not be bad, but it is most likely not superb. Further, your school's name will most likely not turn any heads when it comes up in conversation, or even be recognized at all come to think of it.

This is all not to say that WNEC School of Law is not a good school. I think it may very well be a good school.

One thing to keep in mind is that, contrary to Undergraduate schools, Law Schools are much more few in number. Indeed, some states only have one Law School.

There are currently 189 Law Schools approved by the American Bar Association. This is in far contrast to the number of undergraduate schools.

So, truly, simply being able to attend Law School is a feat in and of itself.

Still, I would prefer to attend a school that people will say "Oh, I have heard of that" rather than the alternative.

I only have until April of this year to decide about WNEC School of Law, though.

Hmmm.......

posted by Pacer 1/27/2005

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

The Cold

"If you don't let it touch you, then it can't have you." The child said.

"What?" The shivering man asked. He looked puzzled.

"The cold."

The man could see that the child was not affected as he was. She was probably a native, he thought.

"Thanks little girl." He told her and went on his way.

He hurried his way down the concrete and heated streets, patting at his sides as he went. Work would not wait, not for this cold or his sluggish legs to get him there, nor for little native girls dispensing nuggets of truth and the meaning of life.

The Central Maneuvers Complex was up ahead. The dull gray building was built in the minimalistic style. Very few, slight windows and a box frame. Neat, compact, efficient. It represented everything the No Waste Policy government who built it represented -- no waste.

Inside were hallways after mazes of hallways which connected room after room. In each room were cubicles built from movable separators. Some were large, some were small. Some were in the middle of maze-like formations, while others abutted a wall -- sometimes even a wall with one of the narrow windows.

The man did not have a window. He only had a plant. Standard issue, full of green leaves and a couple of multicolored blossoms. Happiness leads to increased productivity and less waste -- more efficiency. These had been bred long before.

At his desk the man logged into his computer. A few keystrokes of a username and password put him on his way to figuring and factoring and forming and folding.

The hours initially went by quickly. The man expeditiously and efficiently performed his duty. Numbers factored here, crunched there, derived someplace entirely else -- all of the normal stuff.

Still, the cold began to gnaw at him. Certainly the efficient use of the heating in the building by the government offered little relief. It was set at the most optimal temperature to preserve fuel and cost while keeping workers the most productive.

He was wearing his regulation shirt, as well as his regulation sweater and coat. He was even wearing non-regulation undergarments his great-aunt had made for him just last month. There was no cause for him to be so cold.

Yet he was.

The mid-day break came not soon enough. The man quickly produced his lunch pale and began eating.

The numbers. How many born, how many died, how much fuel used last year, how much fuel created, how much of everything measured against how much of anything else and put into neat packages of reports to be further measured and recorded.

The numbers kept coming. The government had to maintain control. Efficiency must be maintained.

By the end of the day his hands were numb. He was having trouble performing. He was terribly inefficient. Others were beginning to notice.

The time-clock saved him. Somewhat.

By now he was shivering, even in all of his garments. He shivered in line while he waited to pick up his two overcoats. He shivered as he put on his double-layered gloves.

It was not until he stepped out the door he was joined in his shivers by the other workers.

He shuffled home, his legs barely able to work. His grey outer-overcoat failed to keep the chill from slashing into his bones. He could feel his blood chilling.

The man could not remember when he stumbled and fell. He only knew he came two with the face of the little girl from earlier in the day hovering over him. Her hands were holding his.

"You need help." She said.

"I will be fine."

"Follow me." She said.

He followed.

The two made an odd pair in the gray, snow-swept city with heated roads. The man in his two gray overcoats being led by the hand by a small girl wearing a bright red skirt and a black top.

She led him through the parts of town he knew and into parts of which he had only heard. She led him even further, into parts entirely unknown to him where the streets were no longer wide and heated, but narrow and adrift with snow. The buildings on either side piped out heat as if to try and ward off the winter storm, it was all quite inefficient.

At last they came to a building. A residential building, it appeared to him. On the third floor, through an open window, the man could hear music. The yellow, bright light seemed to warm the rest of the street. The smell of something cooking caught his attention, and his stomach began to growl.

"In here." The girl told him.

The man followed her into the building, up two flights of stairs, and in front of a wooden door with the letter B on the front.

The girl knocked. A woman answered. The man could feel the warmth from the room. The woman spoke.

"Come in, you need to get warm." She told him.

"Yes." He told her, he had not realized how weary he was. "Yes, I do."

He went into the warmth.

"If you don't let it touch you, then it can't have you." The girl said.

posted by Pacer 1/18/2005