There’s a very good explanation for why I’ve shirked my bloggy duties for eight weeks. I’ve been given a once in a lifetime opportunity to work at an unbelievably high level of government, which is all I really want to say at the moment. I’ll resume updates sooner rather than later, when I return above water to breathe air, as mammals are wont to do.
If I were bolder, my reply to the question “why do you want to work in public interest?” would be simply:
Because literally tilting at windmills pays even worse.
Let me explain. One of the (many) things I’ve been writing instead of posts here is a statement of interest on why I want to go into public service. I’m working for another government agency this summer, and before the government starts handing out funding to their interns, they want to know that I’m serious about serving the public interest.
In what scientists will doubtlessly (and breathlessly) refer to as Dominic’s Icy Precipitate Postulate of ’09, I postulate the following.
I’ve never actually seen The Paper Chase. After your first year of law school, your friends from your former life will want to see it with you, so you can explain about the time you were stuck in the 1950s and something crazy happened to you. Or something. I told you, I didn’t see it. So if this is redundant, please feel free to skip this post.
Law school is steeped in tradition. It’s generally unchanged for hundreds, if not thousands of years. You don’t show up to class to learn the law: you show up to class to learn how some very smart people came up with the law. Like watching a Grand Master play chess, you’re not trying to memorize the game that he plays; you’re trying to figure out why he moves the way he moves. There are individual principles at work: sacrifice a knight to capture a bishop, sacrifice a bishop to capture a rook, and so on.