About Me

I was thinking today, as I searched other blogs, that the "About Me" portion of my blog is completely and unnecessarily redundant. Sure it's helpful if you want a quick abstract, but if you can't deduce (from the rest of the content) that I encounter women and drink lots of beer...well, then I guess the "About Me" section is reserved for you.

What started me on this "soul-searching" endeavor? Well, I was looking at another woman's blog and it was really well written, and I found myself wanting to find out more about her, which directed me to the "About Me" section. At the sight of her description I immediately wanted to perform a laparoscopy on this particular individual, to ensure that she could never poison the world with her spawn, what with a description that reads, "It's hard to say. ; P" That's it. Nothing like: I hug vegetables because I'm a maniacal vegetarian, nothing about her station in life, nothing about her interest in music, or even a reference to her favorite flavor of porn. Nothing. Just that terrible phrase, accentuated in all of its horrendous splendor by a pitiful emoticon. If you come across this particular twatwaffle, or any other description that lacks in such a flagrant manner, please don't hesitate to leave them a bunch of expletives in the comments section. K.Thx.Bye.

Bloggers' Dilemma

The author is more than mindful that this blog is closer to the scribblings of a schizophrenic than meaningful prose and is grateful for his readership. He has recently been toiling with the notion of "acceptable boundaries." While he realizes that there is a certain unspoken code of conduct that all bloggers but the lowest-form-of-douche (read: Tucker Max) acknowledge, he is fired by the prospect of recording the minutes from nightly bar conversations across Manhattan. The author is aware that this cements his fate and that writing this will handicap many current and potential relationships, but he's so selfish that he feels compelled to write. He understands that people who know him will place him on the same level as a narc, but he is confident that his moral compass will be enough to steer his rudderless boat. Oh, and he can also be bribed with beer. So when you slipped and told him that secret, he can just as quickly forget it with one or three beers.

Jobs & Torture

I can't recall the countless conversations that I've had over the past six months with people of all ages and walks of life that are completely uninformed of the economic realities that face us today.

Socializing can be agonizing. Look no further than the obligatory exchange between new acquaintances, "So what do you do?" I reluctantly confess that I work in finance, and before he/she can ask how things are going I blurt out, "Things are not great, but I'm still employed. But, you know, that can change at any moment." The listener usually empathizes publicly, but wishes bad things on my family because they think I somehow masterminded the credit freeze and the downward spiraling economy based on the intense Excel work I do on a daily basis.

As if that dialog wasn't unpleasant enough, I then ask about their career. They usually admit to a career that is more interesting than mine by a power of infinity. At this point I don't question further, and I'm ready to talk about something completely meaningless like the weather outside. However, they just continue, and I sit there and take it like a suspected terrorist being interrogated in some cavernous basement being exposed to "questionable tactics." This individual rambles on about how their job is fairly safe because he/she doesn't work in finance, or that they're immune from things that happen on Wall Street.

WRONG! In case you hadn't noticed, the engine for NYC and the economy (in the recent past) has been the excessive workings of Wall Street. That trickles down to every job, every municipality, every school, to all ends of the Earth. Wait. Am I suggesting that it affects auto manufacturing plants in Detroit? YES! So it's no surprise that it could affect your publishing job, or your trendy fashion job.

You don't realize it, but I'm judging you with each ignorant and naive statement and I don't care that you went to the country's finest schools because you are oblivious to reality. Now if you don't mind, I have to get back to scanning the room or bar for more interesting people than you, and drown in my lonely beer.