Archive for October, 2008

I’ve been so busy I almost missed my 3-month anniversary in New York.  But never fear, I remembered, and now you all get to hear about it via self-indulgent post from yours truly.  I’m sure you’re excited.
Perhaps you remember the last milestone.  You know, the one where I lamented my confinement to a windowless room, sentenced to hours of looking at excel spreadsheets.  Perhaps you imagined me at the end of my rope (I was).  Perhaps you thought I deserved it for my grass-is-always-greener attitude.  Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.  Here is my update.
Ironically, the morning of my 3-month anniversary started almost exactly the same as the morning of my 2-month anniversary:  I got stuck underground on the subway because of some sick passenger and was 45 minutes late to work.  A month ago, my blood pressure skyrocketed (because rock star analysts are NEVER late.  They find a way to crawl through the tunnels to street level and fly on their magic Harry Potter motorcycle to get there 5 minutes before the senior manager, no matter what happens.)  As a testament to my patience, which has at least doubled since taking this job/living in this city, and to my newly insouciant attitude, I merely turned up my music (you cut me open but I keep keep bleeding love) to drown out fellow passengers’ loud sighs and embraced the extra time I didn’t have to be in the office.  And guess what?  My senior manager didn’t care!  Because apparently, this kind of thing happens all the time in New York and most people, consulting crazies are no, are reasonable.
Which brings me to my second point.   The problem with the windowless confinement other than a complete and utter lack of vitamin D was that I was playing the game all wrong.  This job has nothing to do with my technical skillz. Turns out, my senior manager couldn’t care less that I screwed up an analysis on steel prices beyond all repair (because, let’s be honest, if I could REALLY predict what was going to happen to steel prices, I’d be making millions and millions of dollars instead of working in consulting) as long as I’m pretty and witty and gay (the West Side story kind of gay, I haven’t changed THAT much for the sake of this job).  This job is a popularity contest.  And once I started playing that game, I started getting free dirty martinis during work hours, invitations to go VIP to jazz shows with a partner’s daughter, and 15 minutes a day to walk around outside (oh my god!).  Plus, now, apparently, the project couldn’t survive without me.  Same shitty steel analysis.  Same lack of technical skills.  Totally different opinions on my abilities.  Don’t get me wrong, the hours still suck, the work is still mind-numbingly dull, and I still don’t want to do this for long, but at least my ability to socialize is going to send me out the door on my own terms instead of in a frenzied flee from the horrifying manager.  It’s a beautiful coming-of-age story, really.  Lots of feelings.  Maybe some tear-jerker moments.  I think I’ll sell my story to Oprah.  No, scratch that.  Tyra Banks.  So I can be America’s next top model.
So now that I’ve got the work situation under control, maybe you want to hear about other things I do in New York.   My best day in New York so far was last Saturday.  Food/wine friend Ben and I went to the first annual Food and Wine Festival grand tasting.  I imagine we’ll also go to the second annual.  And the twentieth annual.  And someday we’ll be those annoying old people who are like, “Sonny, I went to the first annual one of these.”  And sonny won’t care at all.  But we will.  I digress.  The only real way to describe this festival is to tell you that it’s my personal happy place.  Going forward, whenever I need a calming moment to myself, I’ll just picture my life in those three hours when I was set free to eat and drink from the best chefs and wine distributors in the city.  Ben and I were actually unable to have a conversation beyond, “Crab.  I like crab.  Sancerre.  I like sancerre.  Korean short ribs.  I like Korean short ribs.  Chateneauf du Pape.  I like Chateneauf du Pape.”  You get the idea.  In a throwback to college days, we spent about half an hour of our precious time tasting sake with a Japanese sake maker.  He poured us shot after shot, but his Engrish wasn’t good enough to tell us where to buy it.  Not a great marketing scheme, but an excellent way to get an education in types of Japanese rice wine (except that post shot 3, I have no idea what I was drinking).  Then Ben scored points with a guy pouring roses by talking about the weather derivatives market as it relates to wine (yeah, I don’t know what that means either).  45 minutes after the event shut down, the guy was trying to convince the organizers to let us stay longer and drink more.  This was unnecessary given our BAC level at that moment.  Also unnecessary was then choosing to have a post-tasting dinner at one of the best restaurants in the city because we’d met the chef at the event.  At least we were invited to celebrate the Michelin star and 27 rating in Zagat with the kitchen staff.  Whatever, we go big or go home.
I should set the record straight on my neighborhood after last month’s update.  In my frustration, I joked that there was no wildlife in Brooklyn except rats.  This is not true.  My roommates have kindly pointed out every squirrel and bird we see as a result of that statement.  We also have a wild cat that lives on our street.  His name is Leo the Lion and his ears are screwed up.  I pet him sometimes even though he probably rolls around in bacteria and AIDS virus all day long.  If that isn’t wildlife, I don’t know what is.  I would also like to invite you all to come and see my place now that it is decorated (the portable fireplace in the living room really ties it all together) and properly warmed (a result of the Rosh Hashanah party I had to pretend I was Jewish to attend… my dream come true).
All in all, New York’s a funny place.  I’m gaining exposure to everything from high prices (that 3 bite sandwich was TOTALLY worth $10!) to the failing economy (quick, everyone overreact) to Dutch and Flemish art dealings (long-story, perhaps another post).  Where else does that happen?  I’m sure I don’t know, but I’m glad I’m getting a chance to experience it.

Until the next long-winded account.