Friday, August 08, 2003
c'mon all you haters!
ever since i decided to attend the hallowed halls of law school, my father asks me the same thing every time he sees me, pleased as punch with himself:
"what do you call 500 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?"
i beg of you, blogiverse. ease my joke-repetition-disorder suffering. there must be a million jokes out there about my venerated future profession. i mean, the only thing people make fun of more than lawyers are the IRISH. come on. mock me. take your best shot. FILL my comment box with the tackiest, most tastelessly stereotypical lawyer jokes you know.
this way i can provide my dad with some NEW ROUTINES.
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Thursday, August 07, 2003
"we're SO not friendsters."
i admit - i gave friendster a chance. at first it was fun, really. my little tribe of friends simply sat around at work, thinking of clever ways to compliment each other in the testimonials and searching for high school crushes. it was a disturbingly funny social experiment .. "look, how i ended up connected to Friend A through wholly-unrelated Friend B's second cousin's hairdresser's lover!"
but friendster is losing its charm for me. without naming names, suddenly the only people in my personal network seem to be the very people i spent several years at sarah lawrence trying to ignore. they called themselves the A-Team and were a hyper-obnoxious roving posse of party. taken individually, the few i actually got to know were really a lot of fun, at least when you were drunk on a saturday night or discussing your hangovers in the library. but what drove me crazy about the A-Team was precisely that they'd managed to form a clique at the un-clique-iest school i could have attended. sarah lawrence didn't have teams. we didn't have sprit, or any pep. the only version of School Pride was "Hell, we made it out alive!".
so where did the clique come from? first day of orientation for the class of 2002, no one knew each other. by the third day, they were like hyenas, about twenty of them, who had seemingly decided that in order to be on top of the college-heap, you needed to act as if there were people on bottom. and at a school like sarah lawrence, with very few rules, that superiority would have to be self-imposed. so they set about to be the loudest in the room, the nakedest at the parties, they sort of traveled, ate, and lived in herd-style, and then the crowning moment senior year was when they labeled themselves the A-Team. they didn't make me feel excluded, they were never really rude to me, but they bothered me nonetheless, because they were constantly assuming they were having more fun than everyone else.
now that i've graduated, i don't think about that group much. i've fallen in with a fantastic bunch of friends that i lovingly refer to as the tribe, but we're not a clique. we always have a blast without trying to prove to the denizens around us that we're better than everyone else. and now, suddenly, on friendster, there i am again, outnumbered as an individual against that herd of A-Teamers that annoyed me all four years at SLC.
i left sarah lawrence's more traumatizing aspects behind when i graduated into the refreshingly normal real world. but excuse me if friendster suddenly makes me feel like i'm back at the pub, morosely eating my bagel and soup and trying to ignore the three shrieking girls who seem pretty drunk for a friday morning.
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Tuesday, August 05, 2003
neither a borrower nor a lender be.
polonius was right, kiddos. so was my father, for that matter. money, among friends, always breeds contempt.
because when you're stuck between a rock and a hard place, between your money and your friend, it doesn't matter which one you choose, you're going to lose.
valuable lessons learned? check.
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i'm starting to feel like the responsible party in the Great Newman/Howard Blogroversy of 2003. wait, that's because i am the responsible party. however, as much as i love watching boys digitally-duke-it-out, i will not play maria to the warring tony and barnardo! i will not see this end in blood! so, rather than having to scoop joshua off the bar wall, or reattach greg's head after joshua philipino-fighting-stick-smacks it off his head with that deadly umbrella...
i suggest a few alternative ways of solving the Conflict! since this is a matter of blogiverse-interest, i invite you all to offer up your own creative, bloodless ways of settling this intense yet thoroughly inexplicable feud:
1. a DANCE-OFF! ala grease, with big band action and throwing-of-girls. it's not over until howard or newman has jitterbugged their way into the hospital.
2. a COOK-OFF! newman has made outrageous claims over dinner concerning his ability to make homemade pasta. but newman makes a lot of outrageous claims over dinner, and other places. can the young upstart really triumph over howard's mad skillz with the grillz?
3. a MAKE OUT CONTEST! girls, i know we all like this idea. we can pick a handful of discerning blog-girls and each of them gets to make out with howard and newman for 30 minutes, then fill out a detailed report covering such vastly important areas as "tongue expertise", "hand placement", and "overall seduction capacity". let's face it, newman and howard are both dishes. this fight could really go either way.
there you have it. dancing, cooking, making out. all ways in which we're sure renaissance men such as howard and newman are MORE than capable of. and this is a lot better than bloodshed, i mean, because we girls get to make OUT with them, right?
who's with me?
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Monday, August 04, 2003
the blog-boys of summer SMACKDOWN!
the players: joshua newman and greg howard.
the lowdown: i totally went out and caroused with both of them on separate occasions. and shook their hands goodnight, you pervs. because that's the kind of blog-girl i am.
the evening in question#1:
i found joshua on friendster, and i put two and two together and realized i'd been reading his personal site for a while. i was amused and daring enough to fire off one of those friendster messages. the email flurry continued unabated until we decided to grab a post-LSAT class drink, somewhere in midtown. joshua suggested a hipster bar. i countered, only if we go there ironically. joshua agreed. there was some bantering disagreement about which side of the street we'd meet on. that was fun. it ended up being the southeast corner.
i arrived, frazzled from hours of LSAT madness and looking rather schleppy, i must say. i was rocking the vintage tee, weathered jeans, no makeup ensemble. joshua totally looked like dustin hoffman, even though he thinks he looks more like matthew broderick. we strolled to a bar so hip it barely had a sign. you had to ring a doorbell to get in. i gave my newfound friend a "you're kidding me, right? i live in QUEENS" look. we had one beer there and traded war stories about blind dates. i decided to see what bar mr. newman would come up with next. he passed the test with flying colors, taking me to a rather seedy, well-lit piano bar called the russian samovar, where we drank fruit-infused vodka straight out of the carafe. we drank quite a bit, enough to start talking about all levels of strange, non-sequential things. we closed the bar. i threw down a $20 and we walked out, drunkenly stumbling out our goodbyes and sauntering in opposite directions.
the verdict #1: the next morning, in quite a daze at work, i vaguely remembered a handsom e face, just the right combination of humility and arrogance to make him interesting, and someone incredibly comfortable to talk to. not to mention, the dizzying effects of cranberry-lemon vodka on a nearly empty stomach. yes, i resolved. that was fun. that should be a repeating occurence. only with a better sodding vodka-to-food ratio.
the evening in question #2:
when i saw on his blog that the blog-luminary greg was going to be in the big apple, i quickly fired off an email of drastically accusatory proportions, threatening all kinds of bodily damage and maiming to his precious geese were he to NOT make plans with me in new york. this uncharacteristically HIGH level of violent coercion was not entirely necessary, since greg promptly replied that he'd be thrilled to play charming country-boy to my whirlwind tour of my favorite new york hot spots. we met up at his hotel and jumped in a cab heading downtown. we started at life cafe, drank three margaritas and talked about things like the brutality of corporate lawyers, my 401[k] plans, and boston. moving on to a little bar of infinite happy-hour fame, we really just knocked back cosmos and talked about greg's real-life friends. then we totally hit up cloister cafe, one of my favorite hidden secrets in the east village, and finished off the evening with beers and conversations about sex, death, family, love, and various permutations thereof. greg gave me a cab ride back to my subway stop in midtown, where i tispily realized it was too late to take the train because my line stopped running to queens at midnight that week, so i jumped in a cab and fell asleep on the way home.
the verdict #2: greg is... there are few words for greg. greg is funny and greg listens and greg is totally a gentleman even though he will now tell me i'm exaggerating. greg was everything you all expect greg to be, with a great smile to boost. i would totally give greg a kitten. maybe several kittens. maybe i'd even give greg a blimp. i'm not sure. but ladies - he's everything his adoring fans think he is, and he even picked up the tab.
FINAL PETIT HIBOUX TALLY: if i had to pick favorites between greg and joshua i'd have to run headfirst into a brick wall to avoid making the decision.
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