Working on a re-launch

Be patient.

Not dead!

Some notes on the last week or so:

- Shark meat tastes like tuna;

- I should never, ever, ever be trusted with a scooter;

- London radical performance/multimedia artists like C&C Music Factory.

Sadly, I forgot my camera cord, so you'll have to wait for the good stuff.

The Warm & Fuzzies, not to mention the solar panels

Take a look at this new Obama ad. Doesn't it look like just like those GE ads that run during the Sunday morning talking head shows?



I never understood why GE, ADM, Boeing et. al. would buy ads every week to push the idea that they're all sweetness and light to an audience of policy wonks who should know better.

Welcome to the Terrordome

One herculean test down, one to go.

In many ways, finding an apartment in New York City is harder than the bar. For the bar, you know what's expected of you, Bar/Bri hands you 50 lbs. of books full of the things you need to know and within two excruciating days in a cavernous room filled with school chums, firm mates and random wierdos (like no-pencil guy discussed supra), it's over. You either pass or you don't.

With real estate, it can go forever if you let it.

The prewars have fire escapes, layers of crusty paint and shoddy electricity. Postwars are built badly, have thin walls and bad water pressure.

Uptown is cheaper but stultifying. Downtown apartments are crap, but you'll save on cabs going home after a night out.

You can get more for your dollar in Brooklyn, but good luck finding a supermarket.

Queens? BYO girlfriend, because you're pretty much locked up socially out there.

There is no passing grade in apartment-hunting, just an endless series of trade-offs, ending in the issuance of a little piece of commercial paper for a large amount to a landlord who is inevitably an asshole in due course. If you have a broker, there's even more commercial paper to issue.

Long story short, no rest for the weary. But no right to complain either - if I didn't work in Biglaw, I would be looking for walkups in Jersey City.

Good Morning Manhattan!

So now I'm done with the bar. Day 2 was a lot like Day 1, but without the computer. My table-mate forgot a pencil again, didn't finish bubbling in his answer sheet (he marked answers in the book and transferred them to the sheet at the end, or so he says) and there was one working stall in the men's room on the start of the final day.

Obviously, I followed up with nine hours of carousing, followed by a day of apartment-hunting. Fun Fun.

Day 1

I'm still among the living.

I've been told that one can allay one's fears of failing by looking around the room and picking out the quarter or so of the test-takers who will fail.

The guy sitting next to me had to borrow a pencil. He also lost his admission ticket over lunch.

Conclude from that what you will.

404 Brain Not Found

I went home after lunch today. After taking the old, evil, irrelevant, demeaning half-day MBE, the most evil idea available to a bar candidate popped into my head: I should just go home and do some essays on my computer.

One nap and half an hour of Situation Room later, the coffee is brewing, the books are out of the bag and I'm banging out another blog post about how unproductive I've been.

Ooh, YouTube. Following this weekend's theme brought about by The Wackness, here's a forgotten gem from the golden age of hip-hop, courtesy of Newark's Lords of the Underground: