Tales from the District

I'm back in DC! I've been here for over a week now, settling in to my new place near Georgetown, meeting with temp agencies, setting up informational interviews, singing with Choral Arts, and just generally enjoying the delight that is this City. I have some stories and observations for you, my 3 loyal readers.

• I was the target of a con-artist the other day. Well, I'd say "artist" is too generous; let's call him a con-finger-painter. I went to the Cherry Blossom Festival with Sweetie (before the cherry blossoms froze -- pictures here), and all was generally pleasant until a large goateed man in a "wife-beater," his arms covered knuckle to shoulder in tattoos, approached us. He was holding a cheap disposable camera. He pointed to my camera -- a digital SLR that set me back quite a pretty penny -- and said, "I'll trade you." What? "You take my picture with mine, and I'll take your picture with yours." Now, I like to think that I am somewhat street-savvy, but frankly this guy would be lucky to trick a mentally disabled 10-year-old. I told him No Thanks but I'd take his picture. He protested and got a bit pushy. "Come on man," he said, "you two should get a picture with each other." "We've got lots of those," I said. "Come on, let me just take a picture of you guys." This man REALLY wanted to get his hands on my camera. "No," I said. "I'll take your picture though," I said, trying to remain friendly. I grabbed his disposable camera --

AND RAN!

No, I actually just snapped his picture, and then I quickly grabbed Sweetie and got the hell out of there. I kept my eye on him, though, and sure enough, about a minute later I saw him trying the same ruse on another fellow with expensive gear. Would anyone really fall for that? And does the man honestly think he'll just be able to run away with a big camera and no one would stop him or call out for the police?

• I was dreaming that I was in a musical, and I had been performing in it for a couple weeks, and now, finally, my friends and family were coming to the show. It was the opening scene, and we were all singing a big musical number, and I was putting together a bird cage on stage, and all was going swimmingly. Then, right in the middle of a big crescendo -- MY ALARM CLOCK RANG! And i I realized, in my dream, what had happened: that this was indeed a dream, and nothing more. And I remember the disappointment I felt in my dream that I wouldn't get to continue the musical, and my disappointment at the knowledge I now possessed that the dream would soon irretrievably fade away. I was also annoyed that I was being awakened by the Beep instead of the Radio; I could have sworn I had set the clock to waken me with music! Then, within a few seconds, the stage, the audience, the music faded to oblivion, and I was laying in my bed, listening to the new music of the day: "Beep! Beep! Beep!"

• I am really torn on Bluetooth headsets. They are so much more convenient than wired headsets, but they don't sound as clear. I'm left to choose between sounding clear to people on the other end but being TANGLED by wires, or sounding *okay* but being able to walk around totally free and clear. Tough choice. Of course, I could always just hold the handset up to my ear, but what's the point of living in an era of modern conveniences if I don't use them? I wrote a review of my Plantronics 510 on Amazon.com -- check it out, and when Amazon asks if this review was helpful to you, click Yes! :-)

• The day after the Great Cherry Blossom Con of 2007, I had yet another run-in with a less than savory individual. I was driving down Reservoir Road when the guy in the next car knocked on his window to get my attention. "Hey, I can fix that for you," said the Arab man. "Much cheaper than a body shop. Why don't you pull over and I can give you my business card and an estimate?" Now, as noted above, my street savviness is through the roof, but I had a feeling that this guy wasn't about to mug and/or rape and/or murder me. I had some time to kill, and was interested in getting my broken front bumper fixed, so I pulled into a nice little subdivision. He pulled up behind me.

"This is my day off, and I can fix this for you really cheap," he said.
"Well, how much?" I said.
He walked around the car and estimated he could fix my front bumper for $600, and sand and re-paint the scratches on my left front panel for $100. A pretty good deal, considering it would likely cost a couple thousand were the auto mechanic to do it.
"Let me think about it," I said. "Why don't you give me your card and I'll let you know."
He started to get evasive, and my Savvy Meter went off the charts. "The thing is," he said, without even checking his pocket, "I'm out of business cards."
"Okay..." I responded. "Well, why don't you give me your phone number."
He recited a number, but then got pushy. "The thing is, today's my day off, and I really need the money. I can do it right now."
"I don't have cash right now," I said firmly.
"That's okay, man, look at you, you obviously got money. I can take a check."
"Listen, I'm not going to do it today. I've got appointments. But I'll call you and let you know. What's your name?"
He paused, for just a millisecond too long. "Alex Johnson," he said. I had never before met any Arabs named Alex Johnson. He was almost certainly lying. "The thing is, man, I'm on my way to the hospital right now," he continued. "My wife and I are having a baby today! A son."
"Oh really."
"Yeah," he said, smiling.
"What's his name?" I said, looking for details.
He smiled wider. "Danny Blue." (Beautiful Arabic name, isn't it?) "And I really need the money, because I want to go get my son some clothes, you know, help him start out right."
"I see." I was positive he had chosen the stereotypically Irish sounding name "Danny Blue" because I have red hair and, as far as he knew, could very well be Irish. Tryin' to play on me sympathies, now, are ya? "If you really need the money," I continued, "you can do it later and still get the money. When's your next day off?"
"I'm free every day!"
"Every day? Where do you work?"
"I'm on my own. I'm an independent contractor."
Uh huh. First it was his day off and he wanted to give me a business card. Now every day is his day off and he doesn't have any business cards. I was more direct now. "I'll call you. I have to go."
I got back in my car and took off. I sure hope Danny Blue doesn't turn out like Alex Johnson.

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Addendum: Speaking of cons, I can't stand it when I call a gym to ask what their prices are, and they refuse to tell me over the phone. "Why don't you just come on down! Are you in the area? You can come on down and we can go over all the prices with you! We've got a lot of specials. Just come try us out!" Of course, if they get me down there, the chances that I'll sign up increase exponentially. (Well, the chances don't increase for ME, because I am aware of their schemes. But the average unwashed stands no chance.) Anyway, I was planning on stopping by anyway to try out their one week free trial, but the membership director's evasiveness on the telephone left a bad taste in my mouth. Anyone had any experience with the Washington Sports Clubs?

Look, ma! I'm famous!

The University of Michigan basketball team had the misfortune, yet again, of attending the NIT tournament, also known as the Losers Tournament, a kind of consolation contest for those who didn't make it into the NCAA.

I learned all of the above facts within the past two days, as my dad told me he bought us all tickets for the NIT game at Michigan on Tuesday. NIT game? Michigan? Tuesday? All vague concepts to me, until my dad explained that basketball is a game whereupon one tries to "shoot" a ball into a hoop with a net under it. By "shoot," apparently he meant "throw the ball upward." There are, in reality, no guns involved.

The point of all this is that we got stuck sitting behind an IDIOT who wore a bag over his head for the whole game, including but not limited to the opening buzzer, halftime, when we were up by 11 or only up by 1. He wore the bag the entire time. At first I thought he wanted media attention, but then I realized that the TV cameras were in fact behind us. And then when the Ann Arbor News took his picture and tried to ask him a few questions, he shrugged them off. Apparently he just wanted to sit there and sulk. Inside a bag. With the words "NIT AGAIN" scrawled on the back, visible only to me and my mom.

Imagine my glee when I opened up the Detroit News this morning to see a picture of Bag Man buried inside the sports section, and, just behind him, me! Only partially obscured! It turns out the Web version of the photo also includes pieces of my mom and dad! I am famous!

Do people actually like their boring law jobs?

I have been trolling the law job boards a lot in recent weeks, looking for an legal job that would let me explore my interests (telecom, technology, etc.) while hopefully working in a cool city (i.e. DC). Yet what I find are not listings for fun jobs, but mostly listings for incredibly boring jobs, like:

* Associate in the Private Wealth Services Group of BigLawFirm LLP, for someone with "an LLM degree interested in the Private Wealth Services Group in our Tax Department in our Richmond Office";
* Employee Benefits Associate to work in the Employee Benefits, Income Tax, and Estates Group of BigLawFirm LLP. Applicants must have "experience in employee benefits and executive compensation." Employer has a "strong preference for LL.M. in Tax with emphasis in Employee Benefits."
* Mergers and Acquisitions Associate to work in the Corporate Law department of BigLawFirm LLP. Applicants must "possess an interest in acquisitions, structural policy and extensive knowledge of the subcontractor bidding processes."

Okay, I made that last one up. But it approximates the types of jobs that are out there. We law students wonder why we can't get jobs doing fun or interesting things? It's because fun and interesting jobs are so few and far between that, for all intents and purposes, they don't exist. All the jobs out there seemingly require a deep love and commitment to tax systems or estate planning or corporate bullshit and SEC filings.

And I wonder, do the lawyers taking those jobs actually enjoy what they do? Do all the people I know who are pursuing tax LL.M's really love thinking about taxes, and navigating complex tax gradations and advising their clients about where to hide their money? Or do the people pursuing tax LL.M's simply do it because those jobs are plentiful, and they don't care about actually enjoying what they do?

When we were little kids, the whole world seemed open to us. "What do you want to be when you grow up, Johnny?" "An astronaut!" "A fireman!" "A movie maker!" I can guarantee you that Johnny never replied, "An associate in the private wealth services group of a big law firm, with a masters degree in taxation and a specialty in mergers and acquisitions!!!"

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And now, here's El Señor Gweepay on:
The Top Ten Jobs We Could Do Instead of Being Lawyers

10. Box maker. While most of us take for granted the fact that boxes are a dime a dozen, do you ever wonder just how a box becomes a box? As a box maker, you would be integral to the storage and shipping needs of Americans everywhere. And trust me, box makers get all the chicks!

9. Songwriter for Disney movies. Come on, who WOULDN'T want to write the next "Friend Like Me?"

8. Obituary writer. Pen obits for your local paper. Make Old Man Penniford sound far cooler than he actually was. Get back at Sal Salverstein for all those times he stole your paper. Because you just know it was him.

7. Researcher for the Rush Limbaugh Show. Because even talent on loan from GOD needs someone to find the latest clip of Hillary doing something bitchy, as she is wont to do.

6. Family Guy aside writer. Without clever and random asides, Family Guy would just be the Simpsons, but funny. Help Family Guy to fill in those cues for asides with all new bizarre and inane tangents.

5. Angelina Jolie's bra. Yeah.

4. Professional Contrarian. Make a career out of being irritatingly contrary regarding the conventional wisdom. Annoy the hell out of all your friends, and the general public. Because contrarians get nearly as many chicks as box makers.

3. Ant killer. Enjoy setting ants on fire? Do it for a living! Consultation: $135.95.

2. Master of the House. Start your own bed 'n breakfast. Sing the tune from Les Mis at least once per evening to all of your guests. Tell saucy tales, make little tunes, etc.

And the Number One job we could do in lieu of being lawyers...

Teddy Roosevelt Impersonator. Play the role of TR at the Teddy Roosevelt Museum and Bait Shop in beautiful Paw Paw, Michigan! Wear a fake moustache! Say things like, "bully!", and, er, "that was bully!" Because nothing says chick magnet like TR.

Wandering

Last night I went out for beers with my sister, came home around 10:45 and promptly fell asleep. Awoke 8 hours later, refreshed. Went to Tim Horton's for a delish Tim Horton's Breakfast Sandwich (THBS) and OJ; read the paper; came back home and cleaned out my car. Took a long time, because, well, my car kind of looked like this. Looks much better now though.

I am now sitting at Panera Bread, using their Internet access to look for DC jobs on the Georgetown law job board. After that, maybe I'll work on the next great American novel. :-)

Need to find a job soon though. I'm getting pretty antsy. And I really want to get back to DC so I can continue my pleasant existence in my favorite city. So vibrant! So much history! So much culture! So many singing opportunities! I miss it. A lot.

10,001?

So yesterday was my 10,000th birthday. That is, as of Wednesday, March 7, 2007, I have been alive on this planet for 10,000 days. I first discovered the date when, a couple years ago, I put my birthday into an online date calculator thingie, and it told me that on 3/7/07 I would be 10,000. And I thought, "Wow. That's awesome! I think 10,000 days is so much more meaningful than, say, 27 years." So I told everyone I was going to have a big party on my 10,000th. Of course, this inevitably led to quizzical looks, and an explanation of what I meant when I said I was turning 10,000. Thing is, no one was quite as excited about it as me. The first thing they wanted to know was how I figured it out, and could I show them the web site so they could find out their date? But that was it. It was just a novelty to them, and lately when I've told people I'm almost 10,000 days old, the typical reaction has been less wide-eyed enthusiasm, and more rolled eyes and telling me I'm weird.

The party didn't happen, mostly because I'm currently in a state of flux, not really having a permanent home (or job to speak of), and with all my friends being scattered around the globe. OK, maybe I am a little "weird" for wanting to celebrate 10,000 days, but it's only weird in that it's atypical. Our society celebrates birthdays yearly -- probably because it's the easiest to track -- and it seems my attempt at emphasizing the Ten Thousandth Day has been mostly unsuccessful. That said, I'm not the first person to come up with the idea of a 10K Day Party! A quick Google search shows a few other likeminded 20-somethings -- though the phenomenon is mostly localized in the UK. I've always fancied their way of looking at the world.