NY Times: Law firms lower themselves to ‘YouTube-style’ videos to recruit talent. For example, Choate Hall & Stewart parodies the Get a Mac videos. First of all, are we really the YouTube generation? YouTube is only 2 years old, and already its branded an entire generation? Ooh, watching humorous streaming videos on teh internets. How revolutionary. Why, back in my day, we had to wrestle with windows media player and endless codecs, and all the videos were dead serious.
Another weekend, another wedding. I’m becoming a sucker for these things. The sense of progression, the reunion of old friends, e’er flowing black label on the rocks at 4pm.
I got upgraded to ‘groomsman’ status to replace an emergency dropout. I believe I filled the role quite well: guiding the out-of-town groomsmen through NY and NJ; looking unjustly handsome in a rented tux from Chinatown; partaking in all the rights, privileges, and responsibilities there unto accorded.
During the reception, I might have become “that guy”. Y’know, That Guy that drinks his scotch and becomes excessively collegial to everyone. That Guy that tells people exactly what good people they are. Shoulder grabs. Earnest appraisals. Most sincerest bear hugs. Vows that I would help them “any time, anything, just call me, don’t worry about it.” Bah, I was feeling good.
In any case, it was good to see all the old childhood friends again, even if everyone did bring their hot sorority girlfriends. Thanks.
WSJ: Job market wanes for U.S. attorneys. Yeah, those much trumpeted $160,000 starting-salary positions only go to the cream of the crop.
“Greater New York area” sounds too much like a value judgment.
So my half-dozen on-campus interviews yielded one callback. It was only slightly disastrous.
The night before my interview, a mosquito had slipped into my room. I awoke to find a small bloodbath: knees, behind the knees, elbow, hand, foot, ear, and– of course, a point of high comedy– my eyelid.
Yes, my right eye was draped by a bulge of flesh. It was puffy and red. My double eyelid was obliterated. I ran through a gamut of treatment: anti-histamines, hydro cortisone creams, ice, napping. No effect. Great. Onward march, I thought.
To travel to my interview, the Law Firm, despite being in the suburbs of northern NJ, recommended that I hail a cab from Penn Station, or to ride the bus and walk a mile to the office. They weren’t going to reimburse traveling expenses. Um, yeah.
So I took the train to Jersey City to borrow my brother’s car. Picked up the car and then I summarily got lost in Jersey City. Had to double back thrice, got stuck in local traffic, missed my on-ramp twice. I was 10 minutes behind schedule.
So naturally, I gunned the car when I finally reached Rt. 280. I dipped and weaved in traffic. Downshifted, heel-toe, vroom. I might actually have been on time. My exit was approaching. Can you see where this story is going?
Whoop whoop! the police siren burped. I pulled over. Looking out, I noticed that I was pulled over in front of the law office. Amazing. The officer cited me as going 83 in a 65. He sat in his cruiser, processed my paperwork, delayed me further.
Okay so here’s a summary: I show up at my only callback interview 25 minutes late, sweaty and disheveled, with a swollen right eye and a police summons in hand.
The Great Law Quest 2007 rolls onward.
Wedding photos from the weekend are up. I still snap photos that my gear can’t handle. Lots of blurry nonsense, but I like it.
These things are supposed to be real bugbears, yet I really enjoyed myself. I mean, here was a couple whose union was anticipated, even admired. They are a sort of archetype here. I wrote a lot of mushy things in my wedding card which I will spare everyone (no really, it could have easily spawned five to six Hallmark card punchlines.)
There were lots of friends I had not seen in years. These reunions are too much a survey of the many little forks in life I never took, or the words I never said, or the persons I never embraced.
Ok, let’s just face it, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.
Life should not necessitate the donning of a black tie more than 2, or 3 times a year. Really. There ought to be a cosmic, universal rule, implemented by, yknow, an omnipotent, merci-for-fuck’s-sake-ful god.
