VIRGINIA LAW WEEKLY

6 Columns & Reviews
VIRGINIA LAW WEEKLY
Friday, 17 November 2006
Dan Balserak '08
Columnist
Dan Balserak's Immor(t)al Legacy
Certain mornings I wake up
fragile and hollow, haunted by a
sense of my own mortality, and
it won’t wash off in the shower.
It’s like if I don’t hold onto something
I might float away. The
specter’s visits, though sporadic,
stick with me: a bird hits the
window, or I trip and teeter on
the stairs, and there I am again.
It is not that I believe my death
impends, but as entropy carries
me inexorably forward, I would
like some small measure of consolation.
Accordingly, please
find below a draft of my will and
testament.
The Last Will and Testament of
Dan Balserak
To Jeff Albertson, I leave my intermittent
Skoal habit. I’m still convinced that the only
reason you caught so many more fish than
me the other day is that they smelled it on
my hook, and I want revenge.
To my landlord, I leave the light fixture
on my ceiling, which somehow manages to
leak vast quantities of water when it rains
without showering me with sparks as well.
On second thought, I would like to donate
this to science. You, instead, get the bill
for all the caffeinated beverages I’ve had
to consume to make up for nights spent in
sleepless terror that I would be electrocuted
in bed.
To Tom Wood, I leave all of my pairs of
sweatpants. You seem to be the only one
whom I’ve persuaded that it is not only acceptable,
but actually stylish, to wear them
with button-down shirts, and I’d like to see
that continue.
To Anika Yusaf, I leave the comically tiny
shorts my brother gave me from when he
was a kid. As a self-appointed arbiter of
taste, you deserve these ’70s-era gems for
their value as a reminder of how trends can
so easily go awry. The only condition on
this bequest is that you must wear them in
public at least once a week. This is because
you always make fun of me for wearing
button-down shirts with sweatpants.
To the guy whose foot I broke while
playing horseshoes at the NASCAR race a
few weeks ago, I leave the Dale Jarrett hat
that I tossed in the fire because I thought it
looked like I’d just bought it earlier that day
and, thus, not like the hat of a veteran Dale
Jarrett fan. I lied when I told you I’d torched
it in anger over his un-American move from
Ford to Toyota—I didn’t even know about
that until a few hours beforehand, right
before I bought it. Unfortunately, the hat
won’t do much to help your foot, but it will
keep about half of your head out of the sun.
Sorry about that again.
To the truck full of girls who drove
around the NASCAR campsite flashing
people for money, I leave the erotic coaster
set that Jeff brought back as a gift for me
from his trip to Greece last year. I didn’t really
talk to any of you at all, and as far as
I could tell, you didn’t look like you were
Greek, but I figure maybe you’d be into an
erotic coaster set.
To the staff of the Virginia Law Review, I
leave my remaining case of Steven Seagal’s
Lightning Bolt Energy Drink (http://
lightningdrink.com). See, even though
you submitted 50 interview requests during
OGIs while knowing full well that you’d
get 90% of them, I’m still leaving you something,
because I have so much love in my
heart.
To the staff of my very own beloved Virginia
Environmental Law Journal, I leave
the towering heap of Styrofoam food
containers that I have been hoarding in my
closet until science discovers an ecologically
friendly method of disposing of them.
Please do so at such time.
To Andy Clayton (who else?), I leave
my Girls on Trampolines! DVD. It’s holidaythemed,
so if I kick the bucket in the next
month or so, at least my death would be
timely in that regard. It goes without saying,
the girls might be a bit out of your target
demographic.
As the last of my bequests, to Ken Staples
of Staples Barber Shop, I leave my cutlery
set. Nowhere else, never before, have I received
such a quality haircut while been
slowly spun around in my chair the whole
time. Besides it being an impressive talent
on your part and a good deal on a haircut,
the feel of being a moving target was mildly
exhilarating. I thought perhaps you could
incorporate my knives into the experience
somehow.
Finally, I would like to provide some instructions
for my burial. Well, maybe “burial”
isn’t the right word. Do you remember
the guy who tied a bunch of weather balloons
to his lawn chair, got too scared to
release any of them, and floated over an
airport or something? I’ve always admired
that guy. Talk about carpe diem. So, please
sit my lifeless body down in a lawn chair,
put a Keystone in my hand, and send me
gently into a low-level orbit. That way,
when you look up in the sky, you can know
that I am quite literally smiling down on
you. Awww.
image courtesy of
agreatgiftidea.com
Surviving Your Callbacks: Some Tips for 1Ls (and Some Unfortunate 2Ls)
Jeff Miller ’08
Reviewer
Eight hotels. Nineteen October
nights spent elsewhere than Charlottesville.
Over 6,000 miles traveled
by air. Sixteen flights in a cramped
Korean War-era turboprop plane that
moves like a meringue dancer at the
least gust of wind. Seven alarm clocks
set for 5 a.m. so I can make a 7 a.m.
flight. Sixteen cab drivers who think
the trip between LaGuardia and Midtown
is a qualifying run for the Grand
Prix of Monte Carlo.
I returned to Virginia battle-worn
and interview-weary, but, dang it
Nancy, I survived. And despite the
best efforts of my personality, I even
managed to land myself a job in the
process (take that, Mom!).
The callback process is not for the
weak of heart, nor the slight of spirit.
If you want to be a cosmopolitan lawyer
in one of our nation’s great cities,
prepare yourself for a marathon. Like
a great endurance run, it takes stamina,
desire, and most of all—focus.
Here is what I have gleaned from
the process. 1Ls, I hope you will keep
some of these in mind when you embark
on your own whirlwind tour de
employment next year.
First, the callback process begins
with class scheduling. That early?
Absolutely. You will notice that law
school credit requirements assume
fifteen credits a semester except for
once when you may indulge in a
meager twelve credits. Take the light
load the fall semester of your 2L year.
I did not. Heck, I almost took eighteen
credits. If you are going to be visiting
a lot of firms in far-flung places, you
will regret not listening to me.
Second, try to keep a two-day block
open during your week. Under no
circumstances should you take a Friday
class and, frankly, Thursday isn’t
looking too good for you either. Load
up on Monday and Wednesday, take
a Thursday seminar that doesn’t meet
every week . . . Whatever, just keep a
couple of days free.
. . . Because if you do, you’ll be able
to do what, I think, is the most important
callback tactic: scheduling two or
even three firms in a group. Ask any 2L
or 3L, the worst part of any callback is
the 12-hour surgical strike—flying in
at 8 p.m. the night before, crashing
in the hotel at 11 p.m., waking up for
a 10 a.m. callback, and then flying
out at 4 p.m. You will hate your life if
you do that more than once. And you
know what? I’ll hate you too, Captain
Cranky.
Interviewing in blocks will give
you time to slow down, take a breath,
and enjoy the city you will soon be
living in. I was largely a stranger to
New York before this semester. Now,
I know how to avoid eye contact with
the homeless like a true Manhattanite.
I also know where the best
hammocks are sold (hint, it’s down
in the hammock district). This is especially
vital if you’re venturing off
to unknown places. Can’t decide between,
say, Tuscaloosa and Burbank?
Spend a few days in each!
Importantly, remember that your
callbacks are as much interviews as
your OGI was. “But Jeff,” one might
say, “they say the callback is your opportunity
to see if the firm is a match
for you!” Yes, then we’ll all hold
hands and eat granola. It’s an interview—act
like it.
If you have a question that you are
not sure is kosher, save it. You can
ask all the taboo questions you want
after you get the offer. The national
post-callback offer rate is something
around 50%. Don’t become a statistic
by relaxing and dropping your guard.
One must especially take note of
this during lunch or dinner with the
firm. If recruiters are the Viet Cong,
this is their bamboo-spiked pit. Take
one example: I was eating lunch
one day after Yankees pitcher Corey
Lidle’s aerial accident. One of the associates
brought it up, to which I absentmindedly
replied, “Yeah, when
George Steinbrenner says he’s going
to make roster cuts, he’s serious!”
DO NOT DO THAT. Now, I lucked
out and got an offer from the firm,
but it sure wasn’t because of that line.
At least wait until the dead are in the
ground before you use them as comedic
fodder.
Next, take advantage of an invitation
to return to the firm for a visit. It
might seem like a hassle to schedule a
trip like this late in the semester, but
it’s worth it if you are undecided. A return
trip allows you to be much more
free in your demeanor and frank in
your conversation. I could never have
made my decisions without a second
swing through some offices.
According to one recruiter, a law
firm will spend about $150,000 per
incoming attorney each year. If they
are making such an investment in
you and you, in turn, are going to be
making an even greater professional
investment in them, you both deserve
to know whether or not you will
be content to work there for three or
four years.
Do try to be somewhat conscious
of the firm’s money, however. One of
the associates I interviewed with bemoaned
having to take a return visitor
out to an expensive restaurant the
previous night, despite not knowing if
the firm reimburses it. While the legal
recruiting process certainly gives one
ample opportunity to do so, don’t be
a glutton.
Finally, when deciding on a firm
during callbacks, remember that you
chose Virginia, and you most likely
have a soul (to you 1Ls transferring
to NYU, Columbia, etc., I apologize
for us bombarding you with our soulness,
and I’m glad to hear you’ll be
murdering your shriveled and blackened
one next year).
The professional aspects of a firm
are important, but take to heart that
you will be with that firm for at least
three years or so. Pick a place you’ll
be content with. As one associate remarked
to his roommate (who would
interview me later that day), “I wake
up each morning dreading work,
and I know that today will narrowly
eclipse yesterday as the worst day of
my life.”
Don’t be that guy. Jobs aren’t parades,
but neither are they prisons.
Go with the firm that you’ll be satisfied
working for because, dang it Pedro,
that’s the firm you’ve spent this
entire process searching for.
Now go study for finals.