Archive for the 'Post-modernist Slavery' Category
Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008
return to normal.
Sunday, May 4th, 2008
Ibanker seeking …
Al, perhaps, this is one career you may wish to discount?
Hello,
ABOUT YOU:
You are a young and good-looking girl. The parental abuse that you incurred as a child has left you emotionally distant and sexually repressed. You are able to sustain months (y
ears?) of loneliness because you shudder at the thought of human interaction. You have a constant feeling of inadequacy leading to excessive hours on the elliptical machine (and, accordingly, a nicely toned bum). I might do stuff to you while you are sleeping at 4AM (when I finally get home from the office), but, other than that, our sex-life will be nonexistent. Naive girls who have been in long-distance relationships and have had their hearts broken by guys who perpetually cheated are more than welcome to email me; I promise that I’m different.
ABOUT ME:
I am a first year analyst at a bulge-bracket investment bank; this means that I’m either Jewish, Asian, or from old-money (and, therefore, connected up the wazoo). Given that this post is (hopefully) grammatically correct, coherently legible, and satirically palatable, I’d like to think that I got into banking based on merits associated with my intelligence; therefore, I’m probably not from old money and am not connected up the wazoo (sorry).
I got into banking as a result of an overwhelming abundance of insecurities. I went to a top-tiered and prestigious undergraduate university, yet, have always felt inferior to the Harvardites and Princetonians that surround me. I’m likely either short and socially outcasted (with excellent kung-fu skills) or schnoz-nosed and unable to date, as every girl I meet in Manhattan is a UES slut that reminds me of my mother.
I go to the gym every morning, as my unnecessarily ambitious and secretively compensating type-A personality forces me to always strive for the best. That, and also the endorphins released from the exercise keep me elated enough to prevent attempting suicide for at least 24 hours.
I approach dating as I do anything else; as a strict meritocracy where I compete to win. At bars, I won’t tell girls that I’m a banker; I feel that it would be unfair to take a girl home by playing the pity card (”Oh, you work in banking? I feel so bad for you. Fine, I guess I’ll sleep with you.”). I’ll likely say that I’m a math teacher at the Dalton School (my Jewish/Asian heritage helps me here) so that girls realize that I’m piss-poor (as are all my other analyst buddies, despite what we tell our family and friends back home) but have Epstein potential.
My interests include playing brickbreaker on my blackberry, romantic dinners expensed to my firm, and finding novel ways to entertain myself during late-night hours (posting personal ads on Craigslist at 3AM - FUN; getting head from you while you hide under my desk - PROBABLY FUNNER).
If you fit my description (and God help you if you do…) feel free to email me. Pictures of boobs (yours or random ones you find on the internet) would be helpful to include in the email. As I’m posting this with my work email address, I’m hoping to get lucky enough that some back-office rat finds the inappropriate content during a routine inbox sweep, so that I can finally be liberated from this relentless world of superficial elitism. I’m talking about the old-money guys.
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/nyc/646020922.html
Monday, April 7th, 2008
three imaginary boys.
so i just noticed a deposit in my savings account for $1551.42. apparently, it’s a bonus for referring a friend for a position here. i didn’t think i would get one because the policy is to give bonuses for referring new hires, and my friend was already a temp here.
and so, i think, this is as good a time as any to quit this place - naturally, i’m writing this at the office. it’s been a stifling 6 months (so far) to say the least. a job that people settle for. and the longer they stay here, the more difficult it becomes to get a job anywhere else. i’m targeting the end of may as my return to enlightened joblessness.
maybe i’ll take a summer course or two in design or journalism, maybe i’ll get certified as a teacher of english as a foreign language, maybe i’ll land a part-time position at a bookshop. who knows? maybe we should go into business together? i’ve got $1551.42 to put in as capital.
Sunday, March 30th, 2008
To boy: The carrot cake missives
Ah, but the point is, it isnt foreign music, in a language you dont understand, isnt quite the same as a song which do understand, and you recognize that the lyrics are bad. I think it makes the whole experiance poorer.
Also, it seems our conversation was rather prescient: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/7321147.stm
Al, for your benefit, amongst the innumerable avatars of inanity that graced our conversation earlier today, i can recall
1) a debate on whether musicans who write songs with bad/meanigless lyrics should be sold into slavery
2) a hybrid inductive/deductive hypothesis for the question that has long troubled us (used in its broadest sense) - “where do the pretty girls go in winter?”
3) what is the one pakistani song you hate to love.