Bagatelle -- Unusual Law School Traditions

Normally I'd just post this on Competing with the Dead, which is a strict web log rather than a discussion forum, but as it mentions our own law school's fine (and ridiculous) Gilbert & Sullivan tradition, I thought I'd post it here as well.

• The ABA Journal's call for comments on the subject "What Unusual Traditions Does Your Law School Celebrate?"

The best one by far is post 5:

• Each year the Cumberland School of Law at Samford University honors the memory of Rascal, the only recipient of the Doctor of Canine Jurisprudence degree at the annual Rascal Memorial Procession. According to Cumberland tradition, Rascal was a mongrel pup who faithfully attended classes at the law school’s former home in Lebanon, Tennessee, beginning in 1933, and in 1937 he was presented the rare degree of Doctor of Canine Jurisprudence. Rascal passed away in 1940, and was buried with much ceremony beneath the window where he attended classes. When Cumberland moved to Birmingham, Alabama in 1961, Rascal’s tombstone and a few spadefuls of dirt were brought to the Samford Campus, and again interred at Blackacre, on the west side of Robinson Hall. This year, on, Thursday, March 6, students, faculty, and friends of the law school--and their pets processed from the foot of Samford’s Centennial Walk to the Blackacre patio area. After a eulogy by Professor Howard Walthall, mourners and pets enjoyed a hotdog lunch served by Cumberland faculty, plus awards and party favors were given.

A Lawyer's Guide to the Sartorial Arts

Many of our readers are law students about to be thrust upon high society for the first time. The following essay gives some fairly straightforward advice on how to dress.

A Lawyer's Guide to the Sartorial Arts

Once upon a time, when the world was civilized, gentlemen rarely dressed themselves. Surrounded by valets and manservants, a gentleman needed only to extend his arms to be bedecked in sartorial splendor, like Snow White being dressed by bluebirds.

These days, trained bluebirds are hard to find, and a well-heeled valet almost impossible. The man of today must select his wardrobe himself. This is often a daunting task. Invitations are frequently murky, using strange code-words like "come as you are." What if you customarily read your mail in the nude? While wearing fisherman's waders? If you receive the invitation at a renaissance fair, are you expected to wear your wimple? These questions, and more, confront the gentleman new to society.

The first step, of course, is to consult a higher power. Turn around, observing the room closely. Do you see a woman of any description? Is it possible that she is your wife? If so, your problems are solved. Consign yourself into her hands with the faith of a newborn child.

If you appear to be unmarried, is it feasible to acquire a wife before the event? Sound marriages have been founded on less. Many a lifelong attachment has been formed when a good-natured young lady took into hand a gentleman wearing a black belt with brown trousers. An historical anecdote: the late President Herbert Hoover routinely wore his underwear on the outside of his clothing, until he was taken in hand just before an important fundraiser. Afterwards, he wore her underwear, but on the inside. This was a sufficient change to win him the presidency.

If you are unable to secure a spouse, you will have to go it alone. The first step is to examine the invitation. Often, key information will be printed on the bottom of the card. If your invitation is verbal, it is acceptable to ask the hostess. If you have not received an invitation, you are a soulless gate-crasher and will burn in Emily Post's private hell. Her pitchfork may be sterling, but the tines are sharp.

Once you know what your hosts expect, it's just a question of interpreting the sartorial code. This will present no problems for a professor of semiology. For others, the task may be more difficult. Let's take a look at some of the most common dress codes.

"Informal/Casual"

Where appropriate: Barbeques, Nascar Races, Bear Baiting

This generally means "wear anything." Shorts or jeans are probably fine. Some rules of decorum may still apply, depending on your hostess. If your hostess is ladylike, casual slacks and an oxford shirt should be acceptable. If your hostess is of the "trailer-trash" variety, try ripped shorts and a golden spoon dangling in your chest hairs. Stay away from cellophane or anything edible, unless you know this will be welcome. Remember: know your audience.

"Semi-formal"

The most dangerous dress suggestion. Its meaning is cloaked in a sort of eldritch indeterminacy. James Thurber, prone as always to genial confusion, once received an invitation to a semi-formal event at the Algonquin. He arrived wearing a dinner jacket, black tie, and no pants.

Essential advice for the young bachelor: emulate Thurber in your letters, and Benchley in your dress. For the most part, semi-formal means a jacket and slacks. A suit (without tie) is also acceptable.

"Business Casual"

This effectively means that you got a little undressed on the way back from the office. A suit (grey or pinstripe) is fine, and it is acceptable to remove your tie. It is not acceptable to untuck your shirt. Save it for the cab-ride home.

"Black tie"

Elegant and understated, this costume is the zenith of sartorial dignity. A slender black bowtie rests upon a well-starched ruffled shirt. A cummerbund (or, better, a vest) softens the sharp lines where the shirt meets the trousers. Cufflinks should be gold or mother-of -pearl.

The black tie ensemble is also known as a "dinner jacket," as it was traditionally worn ever night for dinner. This time will come again. When the 100,000 righteous sit down at the hand of the Father and tuck in to the celestial repast, this is what they will be wearing. Until then, black tie is worn at weddings, balls, and state dinners.

NB: In New York and Los Angeles, it is now considered "acceptable" to wear a dinner jacket with a black shirt and no tie. No good can come of this.

"Tuxedo"

A vulgar term for "black tie," taken from a country club in Tuxedo Park, NY. The semantic distinctions between "tuxedo" and "black tie" are fine, but important. Here's an easy rule of thumb:

If you are a gentleman attending an evening's soiree, you are wearing "black tie."

If you are a pimply high school junior squiring your cousin to your high school "promenade," you are wearing a "tuxedo."

"White Tie"

Also known as "ultra-formal" by hois pollois (a gentleman always declines his Greek).

This is the full-length avian getup. In the modern era, this "penguin suit" consists of a jacket with penguin-like "tails," a "bird's eye piquet" shirt and vest, and a white bow-tie. Be careful not to confuse your flightless birds. Even at the most elegant balls, dazed bachelors may occasionally be seen dressed as emu or ostriches. More rarely, a particularly confused young man will appear as "Big Bird," a flightless creature that inhabits the biome of Sesame Street.

For many white-tie functions, "National Dress" is also acceptable. Lord Byron, descending from an amorous tryst, once walked into a ball clad only in a bedsheet. Swiftly wrapping it around him, he claimed it was the national garb of his home country, Boga Boga. His costume was mentioned with admiration in society pages across Austria.

Weddings after 8 o'clock in the evening are white tie, both for the wedding party and for guests.

"Morning Coat"

Daytime formal wear. A typical "morning coat" consists of a grey (not gray) coat with matching grey and black striped pants, a pearl grey vest, and an ascot. In a pinch, substitute a grey and black four-in-hand tie. Shirt should be white, with wing collar.

A "morning coat" is the appropriate garb for weddings held before noon. Invitations to such events often spell this phrase "mourning coats," to emphasize the spiritual and romantic death of the affianced. Despite this tradition, it is seldom appropriate (however merciful it may be) to bury the groom.

How to Enjoy the Ballet: 10 tips for Lawyers

Let me be clear, right from the beginning: I’m not saying that lawyers can’t enjoy the ballet. I’m just saying that we enjoy it in a different way than normal people. I don't think we have to be ashamed of that. After all, we get paid an obscene amount of money not to think like ordinary human beings. We should embrace those strange, lawyerly emotions, and appreciate high culture from the distorted perspective we all share.

In that spirit, I present 10 tips for enjoying the ballet from a legal perspective. Many of these ideas occurred to me while watching The American Ballet Company’s performance of Sleeping Beauty at the Kennedy Center. However, they apply equally to any production—or, indeed, to many of our experiences with the fine arts.

• 1. Read the program.

This is the first thing I do at the ballet. I ignore the parts about the production; those are boring, unless of course you are stalking a member of the cast. Instead, I like to turn to the sponsor pages. This is the who’s who of Washington power. Want to know who the most powerful members of Congress are? They’re listed in the Honorary Members section. Want to know the most powerful lobbying companies? Try the high-donor’s section, where companies like The Altria Group (née Phillip Morris) demonstrate their commitment to the fine arts.

I also like the ads for outragously expensive watches—obscene watches, watches with nothing on the face but a big, honkin’ diamond. The new Rolex: Because you’re too damn rich to know what time it is.

• 2. Network.

Look around you. Ok, sure, none of the politicians in the program are here. Those people wouldn’t go to the ballet if they handed out free money during intermission. But there are a hell of a lot of lawyers and executives sitting around. Strike up friendly conversations. Pump hands. Be generally positive about the performance, without giving specific details. You’re here because your fiancée likes it, but it’s a delightful performance, really. Are you and your wife enjoying the show, Mr. Exxon-Mobile? My, that’s an impressive wristwatch.

• 3. Nitpick

Unimportant details: they’re how we make a living. There’s no reason to stop thinking about them just because you’re on your own time.

I like to watch for tiny errors. At the last performance I attended, one of the lead ballerino’s hair-bands came off. I watched it like a hawk for the next five minutes. One of the actors (who played a sort of grand vizier) noticed it too. As each new ballerina came onto the stage, he would warn them about it with a glance and a twitch of his fingers, well concealed in his larger movements. Finally, while several dancers spun in front of him, drawing the eyes of the audience, he picked it up and stuffed it into his sleeve.

• 4. Write liability clauses.

These people live entirely on their bodies. If they break a toe, they lose their livelihood. Can you imagine the liability? Try. Then try to construct a clause to avoid it. For extra points, negotiate the contract in your head. Be sure to get to yes.

• 5. Sue fictional characters.

You are in the jurisdiction of Magic Kingdom, which mirrors the procedural and substantive law of New York. An evil fairy godmother puts your kingdom to sleep for 100 years. As a result, your kingdom loses out on 100 years of GDP and technological advancement. Do you have a claim? If so, are punitive damages available?

• 6. Defend fictional characters.

Can the evil fairy godmother succeed on the defense that she is a foreign sovereign, entitled to immunity? She appears to be queen of the flies. Is this sufficient for a claim of immunity under the FSIA? Should she claim it, or try to avoid service of process? Discuss in low whispers, while ignoring the glares of fellow patrons.

• 7. Ask questions about details that sane people do not wonder about.

Remember, you never know what tiny detail might break the case. Exactly how many shoes do these people go through every year? Can they be resoled? Do they start to smell after a few performances? Do performers buy their own shoes, or are they provided by the employer? If so, are there appropriate economic incentives to promote an efficient use of resources? Internalize any relevant externalities.

• 8. Multitask.

Let’s face it, none of us has time to do just one thing at once. Bring work. Read by the house lights. During intermission, check your blackberry compulsively. This has the double advantage of maximizing your use of time and making you look important. You’ll notice, however, that the really important people do not have Blackberries out. This is because they are the puppet masters, and the Blackberries are the strings, to be pulled at their leisure. Guess where this metaphor leaves you.

If you run out of work, play Brickle.

• 9. Strategize.
  

You’re probably here because of a girl. If so, there are two possible approaches—fascination and boredom.

If you prefer to “appreciate culture,” be emotional but not excessively so. No crying, but you can beam genially and occasionally squeeze her hand as the music swells. The idea here is to appear multi-faceted and full of manly emotion.

If you prefer to be long-suffering, slouch slightly, but smile absently whenever she looks up. Compliment her dress and say how glad you are that she’s enjoying it so much. The idea here is to make her aware of your sacrifice, without appearing passive aggressive. Remember, you’re happy she’s happy, even if you’d rather be snorkeling naked in piranha-infested waters.

• 10. Lose your hat.

This gives you an excuse to say, “Damn, I left my hat at the ballet” for the next two weeks. It sounds like complaining, but really you’re saying “Look at me, I went to the ballet.” Further evidence that you aren’t the colorless barrister everyone thinks you are.