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

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.


At 12:58 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Jumping from one woman to another doesn't get you goin? Are you sure you're not gay?

At 12:10 PM, Blogger ALS said...

"Jumping from one woman to another doesn't get you goin? "

Frankly, the phrase "get you goin" sounds a little suspect to me. As in more than a little gay. Perhaps there is some projecting going on here.

At 3:13 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Is that a come on?

At 4:13 PM, Blogger ALS said...

"Is that a come on?"

I thought you would NEVER ask.

Coming soon...AnonymousGayLawStudent.


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