Friday, June 30, 2006
Now That's an Entrepreneur
No doubt the next big fund-raising move will be auctioning off the role of groom.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Anonymous Lawyer
I took my eye off the Anonymous Lawyer blog for a while, and was pleased to discover that it's lately been kicked into high gear pending the forthcoming release of the Anonymous Lawyer book. I'm not sure if it's funny to everyone, but I worked at a big international law firm for a while, and let me assure you that if you've ever done that, the site is hilarious.
I'm also pretty sure the humor is transferable to other jobs--say, if you've been an investment banker. In fact, Anonymous Lawyer's personality reminds me of a friend of mine who used to call me long distance just to laugh evilly as he supervised interns at his ibanking firm.
Be sure to check out the accompanying Anonymous Law Firm web site, and in particular their job application. Personally, I think every employer in America is looking for employees who "can be motivated by the vague promise of future rewards which may never actually come."
I'm also pretty sure the humor is transferable to other jobs--say, if you've been an investment banker. In fact, Anonymous Lawyer's personality reminds me of a friend of mine who used to call me long distance just to laugh evilly as he supervised interns at his ibanking firm.
Be sure to check out the accompanying Anonymous Law Firm web site, and in particular their job application. Personally, I think every employer in America is looking for employees who "can be motivated by the vague promise of future rewards which may never actually come."
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Hell's Kitchenette
I thought I'd be excited when Virginia got nominated--indeed, after her remark about Gordon's spicy hot dog I wished for nothing else. Again, for the video editors, this must be like shooting fish in a barrel. But it wasn't as much fun as I thought it would be, so I'm glad she got to stick around. Her airheaded flirting was actually the least annoying thing in this episode. The prize for most annoying goes to Sara's snarky 'tude (you have to love those coworkers who never make mistakes--they're such a joy).
Overall, I have to say, this series of "Hell's Kitchen" is disappointing. Men versus women is one tired, tired theme, so it's good to see that broken up a little--maybe if they mix the teams up a little or whittle it down to individuals things will perk up a bit. For now the women are catty (wow, what a shock) and the men are just sort of floundering incompetents.
Once again, I can't imagine any of these people successfully running a big resort restaurant. I know that this whole experiment is ostensibly an exercise to scare up some fresh innovation, but I can't help but think there must be lots of qualified people who could really make something of this opportunity. Even really talented people whose peers agree they deserve success can have a tough row to hoe once they're in charge of a restaurant.
Once, when I was in Vegas, I had the pleasure of seeing a man attack a teppan chef in an effort to get the snazzy restaurant he was in to reimburse him for his $500 sweater. Someone--not me, for a wonder--had spilled something on it. Something plain, like water. I'm no expert, God knows, on $500 sweaters, but I think it could have been saved. Let us pause to consider our society's wondrous capacity to create humans such as this, shower them with money, and then release them into an unsuspecting resort population. Now let us pause to imagine ANY of these contestants running a kitchen that has to appease this kind of clientele often enough to avoid bankruptcy.
I can't do it. If you can, my hat is off to you.
Overall, I have to say, this series of "Hell's Kitchen" is disappointing. Men versus women is one tired, tired theme, so it's good to see that broken up a little--maybe if they mix the teams up a little or whittle it down to individuals things will perk up a bit. For now the women are catty (wow, what a shock) and the men are just sort of floundering incompetents.
Once again, I can't imagine any of these people successfully running a big resort restaurant. I know that this whole experiment is ostensibly an exercise to scare up some fresh innovation, but I can't help but think there must be lots of qualified people who could really make something of this opportunity. Even really talented people whose peers agree they deserve success can have a tough row to hoe once they're in charge of a restaurant.
Once, when I was in Vegas, I had the pleasure of seeing a man attack a teppan chef in an effort to get the snazzy restaurant he was in to reimburse him for his $500 sweater. Someone--not me, for a wonder--had spilled something on it. Something plain, like water. I'm no expert, God knows, on $500 sweaters, but I think it could have been saved. Let us pause to consider our society's wondrous capacity to create humans such as this, shower them with money, and then release them into an unsuspecting resort population. Now let us pause to imagine ANY of these contestants running a kitchen that has to appease this kind of clientele often enough to avoid bankruptcy.
I can't do it. If you can, my hat is off to you.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Last Watch of the Night
I'm a reader, but I am also that rarer person, a re-reader. There are certain books I go back to over and over. I'm aware that this is a trait often seen in loony people (like the guy who shot John Lennon), but in my defense, it's not always the same book. I read Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's Good Omens when I need a pick-me-up. For a moral reboot I got back to a little Kant and to Sartre's Essays on Existentialism. And when I need inspiration for my next big move, I pull out Paul Monette's Last Watch of the Night.
Last Watch should be one of the most depressing books on earth. It's a book of essays because Monette was pretty sure he was going to die while he was writing it--and he knew the signs, having watched friends and lovers alike die of AIDS. Death is omnipresent in the book, and even when he reminisces about the good old days, the grim reaper is standing patiently just offstage. I'd be crazy if I told you the book is never sad--the truth about AIDS is heartbreaking, and Monette has lost patience with the lies people tell about grief and death to make them more palatable. Two of his hard truths are tough to bear. Grief is a madness that even time can't soothe. And some people come to the end of their lives with no satisfaction, only the cold comfort of misplaced priorities.
But what I find inspiring is Monette's strength and energy in the face of the truth, and his satisfaction with his own life and actions as his health fails. AIDS is in no way a universal experience--every disease takes people in its own way, and AIDS has an impressive array of weapons at its disposal, an assassin who doesn't have to specialize. But for me the book is at least partly about the universality of being stalked by death. And while that could be depressing, Monette isn't interested in the "woe is me" aspect of death anymore. He's writing to forge determination in his reader. Death is coming--the death of the people you love, your own death, the grief that testifies to the value of what's gone. Your responsibility is to do what good you can with your life, because it's the only comfort you'll get, and the only comfort you can leave to those who suffer your loss.
I always close the book feeling a powerful exhortation. Carry death on your shoulder a little, do and say the things that help you carry your head a little higher, and let your heart gather up its precious cargo--the things that won't be sold in a rummage sale after you're gone.
I haven't found a better foundation for a big decision, or a better motivation to take a little risk. But, you know, if it depresses you, you can always pick up Good Omens, in which death gets a good seeing-to.
Last Watch should be one of the most depressing books on earth. It's a book of essays because Monette was pretty sure he was going to die while he was writing it--and he knew the signs, having watched friends and lovers alike die of AIDS. Death is omnipresent in the book, and even when he reminisces about the good old days, the grim reaper is standing patiently just offstage. I'd be crazy if I told you the book is never sad--the truth about AIDS is heartbreaking, and Monette has lost patience with the lies people tell about grief and death to make them more palatable. Two of his hard truths are tough to bear. Grief is a madness that even time can't soothe. And some people come to the end of their lives with no satisfaction, only the cold comfort of misplaced priorities.
But what I find inspiring is Monette's strength and energy in the face of the truth, and his satisfaction with his own life and actions as his health fails. AIDS is in no way a universal experience--every disease takes people in its own way, and AIDS has an impressive array of weapons at its disposal, an assassin who doesn't have to specialize. But for me the book is at least partly about the universality of being stalked by death. And while that could be depressing, Monette isn't interested in the "woe is me" aspect of death anymore. He's writing to forge determination in his reader. Death is coming--the death of the people you love, your own death, the grief that testifies to the value of what's gone. Your responsibility is to do what good you can with your life, because it's the only comfort you'll get, and the only comfort you can leave to those who suffer your loss.
I always close the book feeling a powerful exhortation. Carry death on your shoulder a little, do and say the things that help you carry your head a little higher, and let your heart gather up its precious cargo--the things that won't be sold in a rummage sale after you're gone.
I haven't found a better foundation for a big decision, or a better motivation to take a little risk. But, you know, if it depresses you, you can always pick up Good Omens, in which death gets a good seeing-to.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
When Touring a Volcano
Today I talked to my folks as they head off on a tour of the Pacific Northwest. My father brought up his tried-and-true joke about Mt. St. Helens. When I was little, Mt. St. Helens erupted when we were on a road trip, and my father kept insisting that if we drove just a little further we'd be able to go and see the action. (Well, you have to admit, it's an effective way to stop your kid from asking, "Are we there yet?") One day when I was absolutely sure we were going to drive right up to the boiling maw of Mt. St. Helens, he pointed out the motel we were going to check into that night and said, "But of course, we'll check in after we see the volcano, because if the volcano gets us, then we won't have paid for the motel."
I told my dad that I hadn't forgotten his joke, that in fact this is my opening volley when there's a dinner party competition about dysfunctional families. It's deliciously deceptive, because people think they're dealing with a rank amateur. Then I bring out the big guns, like the fact that I was raised partly by my dad's version of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog.*
Haha--just kidding.
*His name was Dog Rickles--this despite the fact that the dog puppet had a bow on its ear and was clearly supposed to be a girl.
I told my dad that I hadn't forgotten his joke, that in fact this is my opening volley when there's a dinner party competition about dysfunctional families. It's deliciously deceptive, because people think they're dealing with a rank amateur. Then I bring out the big guns, like the fact that I was raised partly by my dad's version of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog.*
Haha--just kidding.
*His name was Dog Rickles--this despite the fact that the dog puppet had a bow on its ear and was clearly supposed to be a girl.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
