The half-truths, omissions, and outright lies about floating through law school.

More Public Service

Friday, February 25, 2005

Despite a raging hangover, I am forced once again into the realm of public service this morning. It is my turn to be the student volunteer intern for a well-meaning underfunded organization providing legal services for the indigent. I am forced to wear a suit even though the clientelle is, well let's just say would probably be receptive to alternative forms of dress by their pro bono attorney, considering most of them sleep outdoors in good weather. The first woman I talk to is incoherent and quite obviously drunk or high or both. I am pretty sure I have seen her pandhandling the subway near my apartment many a time. She was supposed to come in for an appointment to fill out some work conserning mental health disability benefits. The fact that she is here at all is already a monumental achievement: the appointment showing up rate is roughly 20%. As I am shuffling papers around and hoping she sobers up enough to be of some use, she launches into her pandhandling speech. I almost drop by Starbucks cup from sheer surprise when she shrilly announces "My name is Gina and I am homeless. I am forced to sleep here on the subway. Last night while I was asleep a man attempted to rape me. I fought him off but now I am scared. I am working with City services..." I have no idea what is going on but I cut her off to establish that 1) her name is not Gina 2) we are not on the subway 3) according to her file she resides in a permanent shelter for women. This prompts her to curse at me and leave.

I surf the web for a while before a guy shows up and without asking me any questions launches into a tirade about the fascist policies concerning cigarettes in the city detention centers. Every other sentence is "I know my fucking rights." I am not sure that he does although he does look a remarkable amount like a younger, skinnier Suge Knight. At one point he looks at me and asks me if I need someone to buy alcohol for me, in which case he is more than willing to help. When I inform him that I am in fact 24 he also curses at me and leaves.

I hate pro bono. So much.

Thursday 02/24/05

Thursday, February 24, 2005

I haven't written on this thing in a few days. Here' s a quick run through of what's been goin' down:

-Phone call to Pauly Shore [thank you Paris Hilton's hacked phone]. Seemed like a nice guy, I told him I enjoyed his work. Yes I could have called Lindsay Lohan and commented on her rack or something. But that's so cliche. Plus I am more of an ass-man.

-Impromptu gathing to honor the life of Hunter S. Thompson. Since my brother was involved, I did not attend class for the next two days. I heard it was fun though.

-E-mail from the smokin' hot pre-L. Score! E-mails from less than smokin' hot pre-Ls. Well you gotta take the good with the bad.

-Weird get together with b-school student. Run into her at bar, she is really into me despite the fact that at some point it becomes obvious that I erased her number. Turns out she is 31 instead of my originally estimated 27. I can't decide if that is a good or a bad thing.

Now let's get reaaaadah for the weekend!

Some more useful advice

Monday, February 21, 2005

For the 1Ls out there, some ruminations on the firm call-back interview. I am guessing at least some of you have already been through the drill, but a lot will only be doing it in the spring months. At least for me, the interviewing was mostly in February and March. So, these are some dos/and don't from a man with a pretty strong all-time callback/offer rate:

-Try not to fall alseep or look like you are falling asleep. This is much easier said than done because lawyers love to talk, they are billing the firm for the time you are there, and it's basically like a work break for them. At some point during the 4-5 hours you are interviewing you will hit the wall and want to run out of there screaming. Don't. Instead try to sit up as straight as you can, smile, and count your future summer earnings in your head.

-Do not ask about pro bono. Yes I know it's a "legitimate" question. And no one is supposed to count it against you since it is a professional responsibility blah blah freakin blah. But in the real world firms make money by billing paying clients and do pro bono out of the goodness of their hearts. You wouldn't go to a banking interview and inquire about the quality of their softball team before getting an offer, would you? So wait to show your bleeding heart until you are in the inside and it is too late to weed you out.

-Always go to lunch, if asked. It's another chance to get a couple of people to like you and possibly stick up for you if they are on the fence about hiring you. Always remember that lunch is an interview. It's ok to let up a little in how formal you are but not ok to take your tie off and ask where the closest strip club is. Frankly the only point of this is to see if you are an anti-social freak, as a surprising amount of law students tend to be. So just act like a normal humanoid and you will be fine.

-Don't bad mouth your school. The one softball everyone gets is "How do you like law school?" Sure you may think about slitting your wrists before taking another round of exams at the end of the semester but no one wants to hear that. People don't like a downer. So the moral of the story is that you like law school a lot and you find it rewarding.

-If your interviewer is hot, try to ignore that fact. Nothing good can come out of anything but the utmost professionalism. Unless they openly hit on you, in which case...I don't know you are on your own there, it's never happened to me.

-If your interviwer asks you an inappopriate question: smile, deal the best you can with it and move on. If there is overt ass-grabbing you might want to complain to the firm but if it is partner, I wouldn't recommend it. It's a little early to be getting blacklisted.

-Do not badmouth other firms. It might be very tempting, in the comraderie that has just developed to drop something along the lines of "Oh, I interviewed at Firm X and let me tell you, they are a bunch of ball-busting assholes." It is, however, very poor form and you should never do it. If you are asked where else you are looking, drop the names of some other places that might or might not have expresed interest but don't try to trash any of them.

-Laugh at all the fucking jokes. No matter how inane or lame. But don't laugh too hard so it looks like you are kissing ass.

Sunday 02/20/05

Sunday, February 20, 2005

This guy I don't know emails me out of the blue. Apparently he is a friend of a friend of a friend or something and he is working at the firm where I spent the summer last year and wants to know all about it. "I turned down Firm X, Firm Y, and Firm Z," writes Senor Dumbass, "because I heard that this firm had a better lifestyle." Then it's followed by a bunch of questions too asinine to repeat. What can I possibly say to this guy? I mean Firms X,Y, and Z are hands down better places to spend a 2L summer, they do better work, make more money, send their discarded associates to better jobs, etc.

The firm that hired me and lured this poor fucker in is basically staying profitable through a policy of making the associates extremely unhappy [really shitty benefits, really shitty bonuses] and milking them for all they are worth before sending them away with not even a decent name on the resume. They gave me a job as a 1L because they are a horrible employer no one in their right mind should go to. So they hire 3-4 1Ls from target schools and hope that they liked their free lunches so much they will lure their friends in. As for "lifestyle," that really means "we have a few practice groups so slow due to key partner departures that you will have a hard time meeting your billable hours and we will kick your ass out even sooner." Oh yeah and one other thing: there is no official billable hours target. They tell you that all the time. The recruiting literature is filled with it. The recruiting website notes it, right next to the obligatory pictures of some friendly partners warmly smiling and a sufficienly diverse group of associates sitting in a conference room. But go out to dinner with this firm and hang around late enough, after there have been more wine bottles that people present consumed and you get to find out that dipping below 2200 hours means that, well you should be polishing your resume. Oh and that layoffs have been a constant since about the late 1990s. But that's neither here nor there.

Also, the work performed is largely the kind of cookie-cutter stuff that the better firms don't do because it isn't profitable enough [think a lot of airplane lease agreements on the corporate side and securities ligitation where you want to put up a little fight, then quickly settle]. The people are miserable, including the partners, who if they are worth anything jump ship to better firms. And yet stupid 2Ls throw themselves down the well.

So being in a good mood, I decide not to divulge this guy's career suicide and wish him well. I tell him he is going to have a FANTASTIC summer and to be sure to do an assignment for Partner Joe Blow because he does REALLY interesting work [yeah right]. Good luck, chump. You will need it.

Back for a bit

Saturday, February 19, 2005

So I ended up going to the art thing in Brooklyn. I don't even know how to describe exactly what was going but but my friend was correct, there were indeed babes. And thanks to his girlfriend being there I got to be introducted to them. Sadly most of them had the same reaction to my being in law school as most people have to meeting a convicted baby killer. Perhaps I should have stopped shaving, moved to a warehouse in the outer boroughs and spent my days dumping paint on objects from the homeless, arranging them in piles, then giving them names like "Paralysis and Confusion No. 12." Then I would fit in a little better with this crowd. I was more than a little disguisted and ready to leave when I was talking to someone and she, out of the blue, expressed amazement that Alan Cumming was in "Son of the Mask." Can you believe that shit? Apparently he was big on the hipster theater circuit back in the day. So I had something to talk about at least.

Saturday 02/19/05

I wake up and I am in a bad mood. My wallet is empty and I have at least three stamps of various sized and colors on my right hand. I have no idea why or where they came from. I look for some food but there is nothing in the fridge. I have a semi-angry email from an editor of my journal strongly suggesting I turn in something that is three days overdue. I have no idea what he is talking about since I don't remember seeing this assignment. My head kills. I buy a 64 ounce bottle of Gatorade and play some video games trying to hydrate myself. A friend calls and he wants to know if I want to go to a warehouse in Williamsburg to some art gallery installation his girlfriend is working on, promising "major babes." I can't since I have to find a treatise on European trade regulation 1950-62 in the business-school library. I am so fucking incensed I want to go on a shooting spree. Instead I put on some pants and march down to where the b-schoolers sit around and socialize. Their library is louder than most bars since they "work" in groups. I am miserable and they look like a bunch of horrible assholes and of course I am not even good enough to be one of those assholes, I am going to be their LAWYER. The librarian gives me a hard time [apparently this treatise is oh so valuable] while I am secretely wishing that at least some of these people will go to jail for white collar crimes. I go home and realize that I am completely spent, I can't fall alseep again and I am too hung over to read.

Also the sub I ordered hasn't come.

Woe is me.

The pre-Ls are coming

Friday, February 18, 2005

Some pre-Ls showed up today to "look" at the school. It's not the official weekend or anything so it's the real go-getters among them who somehow found each other and traveled here as a pack. Weird. I only got involved because a friend of a friend was dragging them around campus and "showing them around and stuff" and I ran into her and was promptly introducted. "This is AnonymousLawStudent, if you have ANY questions that I have not been able to answer, I know he would love to help you all out." In fact I would not. I just wanted to get some coffee and go read in solitude. Instead I get roped into giving a standard spiel about myself: hometown, undergrad, major, favorite drugs, summer employment, journal, food allergies, future legal career plans, etc. The pre-Ls wince in excitement whey I um casually drop my summer employer's name. Apparently they have heard of it. A wave of satisfaction washes over me as I contemplate running home for a bit to look at some porn instead of reading when I realize that one of the pre-Ls is smoking hot. Blonde, just a tad slutty looking, no more than a year out of college, with a slim runner's body and an ass that can only be accurately described as "grabbable." I notice the latter part when she half-turns to whisper something into the ear of a considerably fatter girl next to her. While maintaining eye contact with the blonde wonder I make sure to give my email. If you have ANY further questions you can email me. Oh yes I am looking at you, you should definitely email me. She kind of half-smiles and jots something down on a map of our library that they all picked up somewhere. Well perhaps I accomplished something today. As I scurry off I notice that given the extremely tight tan wool pants she is wearing there is undoubtedly nothing greater than a g-string under there. I no longer go for coffee and instead delve right into my antitrust reading instead.

Wednesday 02/16/05

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

Thoughts and life-altering questions/queries for today:

-There needs to be a name for the situation where a professor calls on someone, that person is there and they just sit there pretending they are not.

-If you are a foreigner and you are using a cellphone loudly and obnoxiously around other people, does the fact that you are speaking a language that no one else understands mitigate the annoyance to others in your own mind? Because it only raises your anoyance for others.

-People who give money to pan-handlers should be given tickets of at least $100 a pop. If you are such a fucking humanitarian why don't you just give to a soup kitchen as opposed to subsidizing crack?

-The first guy who said "hey, this porn scene should end with a facial!" is one of the most unheralded geniuses of our time.

-If you are a theater/drama major is it required that you look like you are constantly high or do you actually have to be high?

-Are the names of people currently purchasing Google stock available? I have an e-bridge to net-sell them.

-When a cabdriver is on the phone at 4 AM chattering away in non-English, who are they on the phone with? It can't be the homeland: too expensive on a cell phone. It probably isn't family, it is 4 AM after all. My guess? Other cab drivers. What are they talking about though?

-Is there anything more disheartening than skipping hundreds of pages of reading that you have done at the expense of a night out just to find out that it won't be discussed and in all probability not on the exam? Well there probably is but I am a law student, that's pretty much as bad as it gets for me.

-Is there an official in this administration in charge of making veiled threats to middle east nations? If so, can I want that job. I would send the spiritual leader of Iran a newly released copy of "Saw" with a post-it "this is what we are going to do to you and Syria." Then again, that would probably cause a nuclear episode.

-40s are the most cost-efficient and readily available way of getting drunk. And people say Manhattan is expensive!

-Where do the guys who work in food carts go to the bathroom? And when they do, who watches the food cart?

Tuesday 02/15/05

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

This guy I know was, sua sponte, telling me about how great he did the first semester 2L year. Faaaantastic! Let's just announce your grades to me, you miserable ass. Undeterred by the look of disguist I was trying to muster [think Robert DeNiro in that dopey AmEx commercial where he is wandering around NYC looking like he just found out that Joe Pesci has been porking his wife], he just went on and on. Even counted the GPA for me. Isn't that great? He did so great. Great, great, great. I just let it go.

Had I wanted to, I would have, and perhaps should have, reminded him that he should have thought of doing well LAST year when our grades actually mattered. Now with his gig at some branch office of some firm ranked in the 50s this summer, what is there left to salvage? Yeah if he keeps up his torrid pace he might be able to move up a couple of spots but he isn't getting in anywhere really good. 3L recruiting is like 3 AM in a bar: the attractive people have all gone home with each other and nothing but the dregs are left. Both in terms of firms and applicants. Sure good grades always look good but it's one thing to do well as a first year, when everyone is trying hard and another thing to do well as a post-1L when the curve gets 50% friendlier at the top, half of the class doesn't care in the least, and the classes get progressively fluffier.

Instead I asked him where he was working this summer, knowing full well that it was a piece of shit. When he mumbled out the abbreviated name, I told him I had never heard of it. This of course made him tell me the FULL name [including the LLP at the end!]. To which I let out a weighty "Oh...." After letting that hang in the air I told him I had to go to the gym. The moral of the story: don't tell me your fucking grades, I just don't care.

Monday 02/14/05

Monday, February 14, 2005

Valentine's day! A day to ponder why you are single but more importantly for the wiley among us, a day of opportunity. Sometime after college graduation the prospect of getting old alone in a tiny Manhattan apartment becomes a frightening thought for a lot of women. A lot of young women. A lot of hot women. And now is the time to act on that. It's like a market correction. If they are single they are depressed and think that something is wrong with them. A guide to evaluating her "desperation" scale following V-day:

-Recently broke up with her boyfriend: +2 points. This one is obvious. Re-bound.
-Years of age >25: +1 point. That clock only goes one way.
-Had a boyfriend this time last year: +1 point. Even if she was over it before, today will make her all melancholy again. If you ARE the ex-boyfriend, give yourself like fifty points. Unless you were physically abusive you can probably ride back into town for one last go-around with a low-level flower investment.
-Mentions casually about how much Valentine's day "sucks":+1 point. Yes, you are the ONE female in the world that hates V-day. Either that or you are bitter and lonely.
-At an "anti-Valentine's day" party: +1 point. A gathering of the bitter and lonely. And probably horny.
-Has been living in New York for more than 2 years: -2 points. Has probably gotten jaded by now. Better let this one go.
-Works in "media":+1 point. That's not a real profession, it's a way to bide your time before finding a man to latch onto.
-Has been on a blind date within last month:+2 points. This is the low-hanging fruit of the dating scene. Be the smart monkey and get at it.
-Has been hitting the gym with an increased 25% or more intensity in last 3 months: +1 point. Is she trying to turn her fortune around with a reduction of the old posterior? I say yes.
-Has had a close friend get engaged in last 3 months: +2 points. This one will get them pretty riled up. Extra points if they aren't REALLY friends and are "fake friends" that are superficially nice to each other but really bitchy when apart.

Anything over 5 on the scale is what you should be targeting in the following week. The world is yours to conquer, young man!

Family Time

Sunday, February 13, 2005

Today was my uncle's birthday. So AnonymousBrother and I went to have dinner with him and his lovely trophy of a wife at some upscale italian establishement whose name already escapes me. It's the kind of overpriced black hole that firms take their nervous interviewees for the "informal" lunch during a callback. The whole vibe there freakes me out with bad memories of trying to explain why I was interested in a particular strand of litigation without spitting any of my miso-glazed bass on the third year associate sitting across from me.

My uncle is a VP of something or other at a major conglomerate here in midtown Manhattan. During the bubble run-up of the late 1990s he was an i-banker making an obscene amount usually reserved for rap moguls and professional athletes but when the stock market cooled, one day he was told that perhaps it was time to move on. As in now. As in he did not get to go back to get the pictures off his desk. So he was pretty down in the dumps for a while but managed to land on his feet as the aforementioned VP of whatever it is he does. Albeit at a fraction of his former salary. But we don't talk about that at dinner now. Instead we drink a couple of bottles of 2000 Sassicaia, which was lovely and I smile a lot.

Over a glass of vintage port at the end, Mrs. Uncle asks me how law school is going. Apparently she thought about it too back in the day. I don't know what to say to her and as listlessly as I can I inform her that it is going quite well, all without looking at her midriff which is a perfectly bronzed color in the middle of Februray and flatter than the table. It's showing juuuust enough to remind us all that it is there and the result of many a mid-afternoon stomach crunch at the Equinox gym near their apartment. She looks like she could outrun me in the mile even in her Jimmy Choos. My brother chimes in with something idiotic and I am saved from talking to her.

I am sitting there with my spotless glass of Fonseca and some depressing thoughts. Is this going to be me, jumping from job to job, woman to woman, co-op to co-op? I mean my uncle doesn't seem like a bad guy. He doesn't seem unhappy. He wears red power ties, smokes cigars, goes vacationing in Belize, all of that good stuff. Then again even since getting canned from his master of the universe gig, he has been lacking a certain bounce in his step. You would think his wife's two rows of perfectly even white teeth set between lips that almost certainly have been enhanced would keep his spirits afloat.

Mail Time.

Saturday, February 12, 2005

I think it is high time, I have answered the email that has piled up at anon_law_student at yahoo...well you know the rest.

"Hello, Allow me to present the latest discover in pleasure devices for men's!!"

Hello, allow me to present why the benefits of outsourcing may be getting a bit overstated.

"This is a one time offer. NO other emails you'll receive from us!"

It's like a "Dear John" letter sellinng some kind of flashlight-looking thing you can fuck. Both informative and vaguely melancholy. But as appealing as it sounds, I will stick to at least attempting for real live women for the time being.

"D‮ae‬r Yah‮!oo‬ Mem‮eb‬r,

Th‮si‬ em‮lia‬ was se‮tn‬ by the Ya‮oh‬o! ser‮ev‬r to verify y‮uo‬r b‮na‬k ca‮dr‬ i‮noitamrofn‬. Y‮uo‬r ba‮kn‬ ask Y‮!ooha‬ t‮ od o‬so bec‮sua‬e s‮emo‬ of t‮rieh‬ m‮me‬bers no l‮regno‬ h‮va‬e a‮ssecc‬ to e‮liam‬ addresses on Y‮ooha‬! and they n‮dee‬ to v‮yfire‬ you. You m‮tsu‬ com‮lp‬ete th‮si‬ proc‮se‬s by cli‮kc‬ing on the li‮kn‬ be‮ol‬w:

Suprisingly enough after sending my credit card information, ATM pin codes, mother's maiden name, billing address, time of day when is no one home, the spot where the extra house key is hidden, the code to the safe inside, where the keys for the deposit boxes are and their locations, I have not gotten ANY follow up from this helpful organization. I hope they verify me. I would hate not to be verified.

And the non-spam...

"Any other clues as to your secret identity? 2L, right? Any more goodies?"

Well there a couple of clues here and there. I am indeed a 2L. I can provide more goodies if you allow me to verify your bank card information...sorry I got carried away.

"You suck and you aren't funny."

I am afraid not even I can fulfill your comedic needs. I hope I was able to fulfill your need for inner peace by slining mud at someone else [chokes back tears]. I am ok, I really am.

"Are you sure you're not gay?"

Ok this one wasn't emailed so much as left as a comment. Let me check and I will get back to you. Thus far, 24 years into my life the possibility of sweet sweet woman juice has been a large impetus for doing much of anything. There is, however, a possibility that I have been living a lie and do in fact crave the penis. If only I had known sooner, I could have been subscribing to much better magazines.

Friday 02/11/05

Friday, February 11, 2005

So I guess Valentine's day is coming soon. I didn't really notice until now but having attendined a vaguely Valentine's Day themed party last night, it reminded me that the 14th is just a stone's throw away. I am trying to figure out if anyone of the female species looks particularly um in need of companionship when some rather pungent foreigner corners me into a conversation. Apparently I have a seminar with him. Great, I say. I furtively look around, this cannot be happening. Apparently I had a class with him last semester. Oh, goody, we are practically blood brothers. After a long awkward silence that I am praying makes him disappear, he announces that he did very well in the class we had together. "An aye m-eye-nooos." I am so glad that he decided to confide that in me that I inform him that I need a new drink and try to walk away. He looks in my full 20 oz. glass of Bud Light with some puzzlement.

Instead I am now conversing with a mid to late 20s [we are being generous here] b-school student. Apparently there is a gathering of these assholes here as well. She is wasted and not entirely unattractive. Of course that could be just the booze talking. As the night progresses, I find out that she went to Stanfurd undergrad, worked for a venture capital firm, had a very serious long term boyfriend, and currently has a lazy eye. Well she doesnt TELL me the last part, I kind of notice it as the night rolls along. I am completely hammered by this point and the only relevant inquiry I have is whether said condition was caused by the ex-boyfriend accidentally [or not] depositing his DNA onto it. Frankly, I am more then turned off by the ex-boyfriend talk. Instead of asking though, she gives me her number and I float home to order a chicken shwarma and watch Japanese cartoons that make no sense.

I hate Thursdays. None of my friends who work will go out.

Why There Should Be NO Class participation

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Is it just me or is the Socratic method a completely useless way of trying to teach a room of 150? The whole thing is predicated on instructor-learner interaction but when your sole interation will be for a 10-20 min span total during a semester that's not very helpful. What also isn't helpful is that you have to hear everyone else's interactions, which can be painful. Some of the lowlights of any law school class:

-Someone who didn't do the reading. If they are particularly ballsy it will take a loooong time for this fact to finally unfold in the professors' eyes. Either that or they just don't care and want to waste time too.

-The jackass who just read a "really interesting piece in the National Review" about the VERY same topic [although not really] and wants to discuss it until you are ready to stab, stab, stab.

-The Asian girl who speaks in a whisper so soft as to be inaudible even to the other Asian girl sitting next to her. She will stare into her 4 inch 1.7 lb laptop and mumble something. The professor will tell her to speak up twice, three, four, five times. Every time the professor will come away with naught. For she will not raise her voice in class even if the professor were to light her on fire.

-The dude who doesn't speak English. He has no problems projecting volume but no one is quite sure what he is saying. Is he advocating the violent overthrow of the means of production? Agreeing with the Ginsburg plurality opinion in Gasperini? No one will ever know.

-The old woman who is in law school...well who really knows why. Once she has a stage, look out. Years of pent up aggression over her failed marriage, lost career, and kids she never had result in a geyser-like ability to blabber on nonstop.

All I am saying is, unless it's a seminar in which Socratic interaction can work, law school classes should just be lectures. No one who participates has anything to say that is more worthwhile than the professor. This is if I actually cared about learning the law. Since I can't say that I do, the current system suits me just fine.

Tuesday 02/08/2005

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

The only people who still voluntarily talk in class after 1L year are the complete freaks and the transfers. The transfers have something to prove. They aren't very entertaining but earnest and very hard working. Way to do the reading on time, Timmy! Just like they taught you at Tuskaloosa College of Law and Pottery, or wherever it is you crawled here from.

The freaks can be roughly classified into two catogeries, roughly correlating with gender:

Conservative Boy: This guy beats off to Ayn Rand. And not the weird sex scenes. Everything he says gets reduced to some kind of market analysis. Usually, it bespeaks a horrible understanding of how markets work and are structured. If you told him that the U.S. should go back to the gold standard, he would be your friend. If he believed in that "friend" thing. The surprising thing about him is: If he is such a strident believer in the efficiency of markets, how can he continually expose others to the negative externality of his blathering?

Liberal Girl: She is kind of attractive in an odd way but mostly just annoying. She has no conception that things cost money or that raising taxes indefinitely is not something the world has agreed on. If you want to make her cry give her a graph and an integral equation to solve. Or just remind her of the plight of the Bolivian dirt farmer in this harsh globalizing world of ours. Despite her concern for the common good there is no doubt that she will marry a financier of some sort and drive an SUV to school board meetings somewhere in, near, or around Wilton, CT.

How to Write a Friendster Profile [Male Edition]

Monday, February 07, 2005

Gender: not a lot of leeway there.
Interested in Meeting people for: If you actually have anything other than "Friends" and/or "Activity Partners" you are one pathetic loser.
Status: Can get tricky when you are starting to date someone. Don't bother with this one.
Age: Not a lot of leeway there either.
Location: Say where you are. Don't try to be funny.
Hometown: Say where you are from.
Occupation: Say something obnoxious like "navel inspector" or "man in suit."
Companies: If you actually name any real companies your status will be "single" forever.
Schools: Use only one name for each. As in: Groton/Yale/OfHardKnocks.
College/University: No need to repeat from above.
Affiliation: This is your chance to shine and be witty. So be witty.
Hobbiest and Interests: Sound interesting without actually naming any. Hobbies are lame.
Favorite Books: Try to combine the pretentious, the lowbrow, and the professional. Something along the lines of: James Joyce, Tom Wolfe, Financial Analysis of Derivative Instruments. Oh and throw in some obnoxious philospher treatise to show the opposite sex how deep you are.
Favorite Music: Think of the most asinine, unbearable indie bands that just plain suck. Now name them. The more obscture the better.
Favorite TV Shows: No one cool watches TV anymore. Except for Curb Your Enthusiasm. That's cool.
About Me: A long rambling list of things you enjoy doing. Here is where you throw in that you lift weights regularly.
Who I Want to Meet: Name a D-list celebrity from the 80s.

Sunday 02/06/2005

Sunday, February 06, 2005

I went out to some bar around here with a bunch of law students. Big mistake. Some transfer from the netherworlds of the Third Tier attached himself to me and was drunkenly making uncomfortable confessions even though we barely knew each other. Things like him finding a gay roommate "un-Christian." Something about lack of morals or whatever. He kept blabbering on and on and I just could not separate myself without being a total dick. About the only interesting thing he expressed was utter disappointment over his academic performance. He was convinced good times were ahead just because he had done "amazingly well" at Tier Three University Law School on their rather harsh curve. Well Bub, apparently you got some work cut out ahead of you before you can hit a major league curveball. Sure the curve here is probably 40% more forgiving but the level of competition is higher. Of course I took the opportunity to tell him that, hoping he would leave. Instead that led to an unrelated near-tearful confession about $8,000 in credit card debt. Was there anything aroudn to stab him with?

This was all of the more frustrating because there was a real war prize there. About 5'7", blonde, with an amazing-looking ass encased in those classy ass-hugging black pants that the JAPs favored before the current denim craze. Just the right amount of lip gloss to indicate that she was down for a good time but not so much as to indicate that those good times were previously spent in Seaside Heights. When she leaned over to whisper something to her less attractive but significantly sluttier looking friend, just a hint of a hot pink string revealed itself. And I was stuck listening to some idiot from fly-over country bitch about his academic shortcomings. Of course by the time I ditched him the war prize in question had busied herself with this other jackal I go to school with. I should have just been a dick.


Saturday, February 05, 2005

I had some lunch today with AnonymousFather who was in town to transact some business, over the weekend no less. You see, people other than lawyers have to work on the weekends occasionally. Although probably less often.

We hit up a lovely steakhouse, talked about this and that. There was a guy sitting right across from me who looked just like Willem Dafoe would if he was cast to play Gordon Gekko. I am talking about black pinstriped suit, power tie, tons of hair gel. On a weekend no less. It looked like the guy stepped out of 1988. He was fiddling with his blackberry and occasionally sipping from his $375 bottle of burgundy and pretty much ignoring the smoking-hot blonde he was with. What is the point of having it all if you don't have a trophy wife to signal you have "arrived"?

So I spent most of the meal staring at her ass. I was going to say something to AnonymousFather about it but then, I thought better of it. I wouldn't want him to get a trophy wife. That might severely cut into my lifestyle. Oh and the ceasar salad sucked.

How to Dress Like an Asshole [former i-banker in Law School edition]

Friday, February 04, 2005

1. Start with a tasteful pair of leather shoes. Add designer logo and 250% price increase. We would not want anyone to miss that.
2. No denim whatsoever. Only pants you can wear to the old country club will do. Denim is for poor people and you are not poor. Or if you are you most certainly can't dress like you are.
3. Light colored dress shirt under dark colored sweater. Bonus points if the dress shirt's manufacturer is identified by what little of it is sticking out. Extra bonus points if the sweater is from Brooks Brothers.
4. Cup of coffee. While not technically an item of dress, this accessory is permanently in your hand so it might as well be. How could you possibly be expected to provide meandering monologues on the highs and lows of your former career in class without your cup o'joe?
5. Obnoxious scarf draped around your rather inconsiderable shoulders [you will only attend a gym with a personal trainer, or none at all]. You will begin wearing it at the first sign of cold weather and straight through May since it just makes you look so darn dignified.

Add endless stories about how f-ing cool you were when you were "banking" and you are ready to be this breed of asshole.

My head hurts

As you can probably guess I got sloshed last night, it being Thursday and all. For some moronic reason, however, I have a Friday morning class, which I have not been to in a while. Why did I sign up? Perhaps a moment of sober eagerness where I really wanted to learn about derivatives. Perhaps I am just not good at planning ahead.

A friend of a friend showed up to a bar where a lot of us were hanging out. About this time last year, in a different bar very close to here, her and I made out on a couch for a while. Apparently with enough gusto that it made it around the school. Either way, she was there with her boyfriend which made it a little weird since, well let's just say we had a torrid little fling.

He had a lovely little goatee and works for a hedge fund, like everyone else in this city. I drunkenly asked for some stock tips but he did not seem to be very much amused, perhaps he was pickin' up on the sexual tension. I end the night stumbling around looking for a slice of pizza at 3 A.M. on Third Avenue and end up having a lenghty conversation with a homeless guy about how the current uncertainty in federal sentencing guidelines might affect his life.

Wednesday 02/02/05

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

I had to go see the Prof. I am assisting with his crazy critial legal studies research today.
I knock on the mahogany door and get no answer. Hanging out for a while, then all of two and a half bills of his secretary waddles down the hall and informs me that he is in his office and I should knock harder. I do and he is indeed inside, fiddling with the wheel of his iPod. "Baby I Got Your Money" is blaring loudly out of the earbud he has just put down. The new direction in crit scholarship is extracting messages of majoritarian oppression from, um urban music. The Prof puts down the iPod and finally turns it off and without any hint of apology for making me wait outside announces that he was listening to "Old Dirty Daddy." I fidget uncomfortably, to which he corrects himself.
-"Old Dirty Man. ODM."
-"Um....Old Dirty Bastard. His name was Old Dirty Bastard." I knew I shouldn't have said anything. He is looking at me with a mixture of disdain and disguist. He is supposed to be interpreting the angst of the inner city, not some kid who used to make out with strangers to the song at frat parties.
-"Well no matter, he was shot a while ago. Very sad."
At this point I know I shouldn't say anything but it is just bubbling up inside me.
-"He ODd."
-"Excuse me?" He takes a big meaty swig from a bottle of European bottled water with an unpronouncable name.
-"Old Dirty Bastard overdosed. Drugs. He wasn't shot."
At this point it is clear that it is time to leave. The Old Dirty Man is now mad as hell and there is nothing I can do.

This is odd

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

Can someone explain to me what the fuck Alan Cumming is doing in "Son of the Mask"? I understand Jamie Kennedy, that guy is about 18 months removed from "Celebrity Mole." But Alan Cumming is a real actor! Is that hard to pay the bills?

Last Night

"Last nite she said
Oh baby I feel so down
When you turn me off
When I feel left out
So i, I turned round
Oh baby don’t care no more
I know this for sure
I’m walking out that door"
-The Strokes.

Last night: I wind up in a Murray Hill bar with some hedge fund masters of the universe I went to undergrad with. I get very drunk. I am very drunk when I am talking to some random girl who is telling me about her college thesis on post-feminist critiques of the FCC's media ownership rules and how she turned that into a gig at a major network. It sounds like she is a glorified secretary but since she attended a school I had never heard of, that must be pretty exciting. I am looking for a way to weasel out of talking to her since she seems bored and distracted tapping uncomfortably on the unevenly sugared rim of her appletini glass. Instead she takes out the gum she was chewing and starts making out with me. To make a long story short, twenty minutes later we are in her apartment and I am sprinting into the bathroom since I had about 4 Black'N Tans to end the night.

When I come out I hear a sound that would wake the dead with its sheer monstrosity. She is puking her brains out onto a chair. It's one of those $500 Aero chairs with the curved ass-seat which is doing a fantastic job of collecting the red chunks. At some point I realize that is going to go for quite some time and pick up my jacket to quietly slip out during the festivities. A sleepy-looking Asian girl in a man's "Villanova Intramural Basekteball Champ!" t-shirt comes out of a bedroom which I did not realize was there and before I am forced to make some horribly uncomfortable small talk I just walk out the front door. As I am trying to find the elevator, all I hear "What the fuck did you do to my chair!" Perhaps the last three rounds of sambuca shots were a bit much.

This morning I am sititng in my suit, with a notepad, looking very serious, listening to some ranting speech about police "disrespect" from an elderly man with many missing teeth. He was detained for what he says is peaceful loitering and what the police say was harrassment of customers of some deli uptown. I am supposed to help him litigate the restraining order the deli owners have against him, or something like that. I don't know. My head hurts and I am only thinking about one thing: what kind of underwear she was wearing. I bet it was something cool.

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