Thursday, July 29, 2004

Enough Said....

Too  much of last post..
so check this out...

Monday, July 26, 2004

So you want to be on Wall Street…

Don't major in anything except finance, economics or accounting.

Make sure you graduate from a top tier school per Business Week. 

Skipping grad school until you get onboard at a bank is an option, but it's a catch 22.   Going to a top tier MBA, and breaking into IB (Investment banking)  immediately will result in treading in debt for a long long time.

The alternative is combing the desert of corporate finance for years, hoping to God a recruiter will come down out of the sky and bring you forth into the kingdom of a Morgan Stanley or Goldman.

Skip Corporate finace,  you might be passed up for the big bucks.

As a Wall Street financier, you will be hanging out at the same after work bars as your co-workers.  Initially you will find these places ridiculous, pretentious and probably below you.

However, as time goes on, as new deals come in the door and late nights become routine; a bar that frequents other grindstone number crunches like yourself will come in handy.

But a few tips:

Don't sleep with the bar staff. You need friends for the long haul at a watering hole with resources. You never know who at a bar like this will have heard a tip worth checking out (including whose job in open game at another firm). More jobs, deals, and promotions will occur here than any other place. 

Make sure the bar is at least 3 walking blocks from the job site and don't go for lunch.  You don't want to be seen drinking at lunch and of course and you don't want the perception that you are away from your desk and not working.

For all non-public lunches that involve:

Breaking up with a woman,
Sleeping with women who shouldn't be sleeping with you,
Firing your secretary,
Guys that were fired and want to talk,
Shady deals to beat the SEC,

Designate another bar of your choosing. 

Again, don't make this bar too far from the office, but  make sure that no one knows it. It can be as nice or as crappy as your choose, but make sure it's quiet and tip the bar staff well.   This will be your library and sanctuary. You are paying to be left alone.

I would recommend a bar butI might be squealing on someone's sacred space.  Don't over think this one. It can be anywhere and doesn't have to be fancy. For example, a friend I knew took the upstairs bar of a TGIF on 50th Street and 7th Avenue for god sakes. Just avoid happy hour.

Now that you have your watering holes (One for yourself, one for business), make sure you know how to get out and relax when the work week concludes.

You will be working 80 hour weeks.
You will always be tired and ALWAYS stimulated.
You will need to know how to relax WITHOUT alcohol.
Get as far away from freakin' Manhattan as possible.

Love it or leave it, it's a drinking town, and you better know how to drink.

Good luck..

you'll make a great criminal if you can just hold your liquor..

Friday, July 23, 2004

Elephant Bar in Torrance..

It took three gin and tonics for her to start talking about the FBI and what happened at the Hermosa Hotel. I figured it would be at least an hour to get the truth out, but she could drink like no lady I'd seen. Within twenty minutes we were back on track about the triangle scheme at the DIR, who was living at the house out in San Bernadino and how to get away with murder. The Gin and Tonic was doing a nice job.

Monday, July 19, 2004

Malibu or Bust

Top overheard conversation at Hollywood Park on Friday night came from a blonde chick on her cell phone while nursing  what looked like a pina colada:
"I can't believe it, the one night you're in Malibu and I'm here!"

Sunday, July 18, 2004

This is Shatner ..Go..
Yes, Mr. Poker (poke her dude)..and I ventured past the unionized red neon structure of the Forama Hotel to bowl a few games this past Saturday afternoon.  We came out pretty evenly matched for a couple of fumbling novices.
First Game:
DH: 112
CP:   106
Second Game:
DH:  114
CP:  110
There would have been a third game, but it wasn't meant to be.    Ultimately we flipped a coin.  Heads we bowl again, tails we leave. was tails and that was that.  But we did leave with some helpful etiquette on bowling.  Apparently you have to wait for the guy next to you to finish his motion before you can start.  We were instructed firmly by the gentleman next to us after a violation or two.  He was not someone you would want to argue with in a dark alley, much less one where you lug around graphite round rocks.  In fact, with the exception of the mustache, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Apollo creed in Rocky II.
Speaking of Meant to Be,   The seventh race had a horse with that very name, reappear at Hollywood Park on Friday night.  This horse had shocked the chain smoking pattern watchers of the track two weeks before, winning in the fifth race as the five horse. (the #5 horse had won race 1, 2, 3, and 4 that day).  Well, needless to say "Meant to Be" was not on Friday night and didn't even finish the race.  As he approached the back stretch he took a right to the stables and that was that. 
Top three things heard over the intercom at the Bowling alley:

  1. "One bowling ball at a time please.  Parents, please don't let the kids roll more than one ball down the alley at a time.  Thank you."
  2. Pleasant Valley Sunday by the Monkeys
  3. This is Shatner..go.

Saturday, July 17, 2004

This just in Connie,

Chemicals in the brain ultimatley killed Freud!

A giant Harvard Medical Journal was being questioned at the 23rd precinct police station.  Police are still looking for the main accomplise: PILL DUDE.  PILL DUDE is known to stimulate brain recepters, decrease high blood pressure, relieve anxiety and keep random people on the streets of Brooklyn from killing family members.  PILL DUDE is being hailed a hero in the Village Voice and a greedy vagrant in the Wall Street Journal. 
An entire island of inhabitants still depend on Freud to rescue them from themselves.  What they have discovered as of late is that  those choosen to vessle Freud are charging way to much money.  The "best practices" cost has steadily declined steadily (or was always the case) for years. 
"But this is denial," says the Wall Street Journal, "Freud wouldn't be able to stand up straight.  And if he did, he would be cured.  What's the point of that?  PILL DUDE will be hunted down."
But these are just hollow words from a government organization which is required to pick and choose its corporte enemies through the SEC.  Phizer Corporation and Eli Lilly aren't about to devuldge the whereabouts of PILL DUDE.  They are claiming it's their goddamn right.  In the meantime, all that stands between Freud and the all drug olympics of the mind is a dusty Harvard Medical Journal, currently being thumbed and prodded at the Canal Street Precinct.  "Books usually don't talk, so PILL DUDE should remain at large," Office Grumbles stated as of last night. 

Back to you Connie...

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

So you want to be mayor….

All those politicians, all those bankers, all those hands to shake at the chamber of commerce… How many hotel banquet halls can you go to for lunch? Maybe you're in DC, maybe you're in Baltimore on the new waterfront development, but more than likely you're in a place like Louisville but much much worse. It could be Nashville, but it's probably Indianapolis, or St. Louis. As mayor, remember you'll have River boat gambling on your conscious, and have to explain to all those union workers why you won't let them smoke in bars and restaurants. But you will decide to put a new Hooters over on Oak street and they will in turn eventually forgive you.
Maybe you want to be mayor in one of those larger mid west cities where you're lucky if you have a professional anything team but you at least have a downtown revitalization initiative. You decide you want to throw a hard rock café in there, a Victoria secret mega store and clear out the adult bookstores. You need that hooters, but don't need the strip joint on third street that's been an eye sore since your cocaine years in the mid 80's. Yes you will be a fine mayor. You pray there will be no racial conflicts. Hopefully the extent of it will be a few burned building when and if your city wins some sort of sports tournament. Racial harmony will be defined not by what happens, but by what doesn't happen. Economy? Jobs? Blame it on Wall-Mart, then make sure Wall-Mart doubles it's presence in the suburbs. Don't forget to throw one in a Black neighborhood so you can blame the blacks when things STILL don't work out for the community. Drugs? What drugs? Being Mayor requires a lot of hard work and dedication. You don't to be bogged down by issues around drugs. You know people do them, you know you can't be caught affiliated with them, so pretend they don't exist.
But if you're really going to be mayor, think about what you can do to get elected that will really distinguish you from the other schmuck that will be wanting that same life time country club membership. Like a wedding planner, you might want to consider hiring a PR guy. He won't do "work" in the traditional sense, but he's your strategist and when you are forced to make a really really tough decision, defer to him and don't question his judgement. Making decisions isn't what you're doing. You're primary focus is the title of mayor. So eyes on the prize, foot on the petal, and get your small small country on son…

And now a word from our sponsor..

Monday, July 05, 2004

A message passed on from Eastern Kentucky University student Lex by way of Chi-Town. This is his first week living there. Lex grew up in Bardstown Kentucky.

"So you want to be a writer:

There is no choice, it’s like telling yourself you’re not going to fuck your girlfriend because she’s been a bitch know it never works..

But I’ll make a list so life can go on.

You have to be insane–like wanting to grind your teeth down with a sander just to feel–insane.

You must be scared to go out without a pen and paper–terrified without a pen and paper.

I left mine today–I almost cried–I got a pen and a napkin in a coffee shop–I’m okay.

You must need books to hide in. You must be scared without them–dark basement after Michael Myers at 5-years-old scared, or 7 am and the birds are chirping and your out of coke scared.

You must have women, or want to have women, because you write to them–no one else. You always write to Nancy or Louise or Taylor or Courtney or Natalie–I don’t lie.

You must love faces and arms and hair and voices–men and women–you must know if Seth or Scott is hot, like you know Gwyneth is hot–don’t be scared.

You must always be scared–only the reality of illusion can calm you.

Like this napkin, you must write on magazines and hands–you would write on her face if she’d let you–all your words on her forehead, on her cheeks.

You must drink or have drunk like your alcoholic uncle Bill or Bobby or Bud.

Gymnasiums and elementary schools must make you sweat. Subways make you sleep.

Mash and Mommas Family make you tie the noose, the late night news makes you hang it, a school bus makes you tip the chair.

Your newest short story or poem or the word gloaming you typed or wrote on a napkin is beyond Hemingway and Joyce.

You can like the classics but please know the year–it’s no longer 1877 or 1920.

You must judge: the person, the flower arrangement, your mom’s key lime pie. You’re not a good person–really not a good person.

You can burn your English degree, and fuck you’re A+ essay on Ulysses–you might as well study the puke by the bum on the sidewalk. Do that–study the puke and wipe his face with your Ulysses essay.

Coffee makes you crazy but you love crack, bums love crack, but don’t worry, mommy still loves you..

You must watch the escalator with wide eyes and know it’s all God–the escalator, and the puke on the sidewalk, and the bum. But not your Ulysses essay, that will never be. But the Handicap Sticker on the door–that is–it’s God, and Jesus, and Mohamed in great White Cloud Blue Sky Buddhaland Nirvana with angels flying by Heaven–that Heaven you saw as a kid and you can’t forget–this is the Handicap Sticker.

The Black dude that came in the coffee shop and said, "Write that shit man. Never stop." He must make you smile–he makes you burn the noose. You never had one anyway, you’re scared of death and dirt; and graveyards are like churches. You like to make love in churches–the best sex is with God–and you wash with the Holy Water–sex gets you hot, but the water is always by the door.

With pen in hand you grind your teeth. You shake and sweat and masturbate to forget about it, and your character Mike, and the next word. You drink or want to drink because of the next word.

Hot scrotum burning hell would be better–but that pretty little girl that just walked by and smiled at you–she makes it all peachy again.

Friday, July 02, 2004

July 2…

Marlon Brando passed into the LA Desert air today. He was 80. When asked on advice for young actors he had once replied, “Acting is such a silly thing to do.”

On another note, (by way of Brando’s Oscar win in which he sent an Indian on his behalf to decline) I have been politely blacklisted from sending out inspirational quotes to a Securities trading desk in New York. Reasons given for the blacklist imply that the messages distributed might not be motivational enough for the weary foreign exchange analyst who dream of happy hour by 10:30AM. “They’re cynical enough as it is,” is what the analyst told me. Regardless, the zany group left dizzy from trading Yen with Euro can expect at least one reference quote to my favorite Brazilian Speed Metal band: Cicada Death March. The born again band writes inspirational fantasy trilogies that use frequent metaphors about Dragons, Knights in Shining Armor, and Wizards all through the sound filter of old school digital effects processors and good old fashoion Marshal Stack Natural Distortion.

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