Halvesies

So here's what's up.

I can't blog about work. I want to blog about work. I feel like if I could blog about work, I would have SO MUCH to say about work, the way I always used to say SO MUCH about school. Work before I went to law school was different from work after law school, did not require blogging because did not require thinking, and the rest of my days were just so much more interesting. Once you go to law school, you learn how to work in a way you never worked before, and you grow up and want to, and you expect it to consume you, and yet.

There is nothing more I can say, not about this, not now.

So I'll say something else, and you'll get a snippet of the story. The torrid love affair between me and my glorious apartment, the one that only ever sort of made sense, is coming to an end. One part of me is strangely okay with this, with leaving the stressful memories and not-quite-me-ness that never quite went away, despite the washer/dryer and terrace and two bathrooms and stainless steel appliances. Excited to move on to smaller and better (read: cheaper) things, closer to the subway and the city, and where I get to make the whole thing mine. The other part was planning another incredible Christmas party, and can't quite fathom leaving behind half of the past six years.

But it was not meant to be. A few weeks ago, I came home to a shining copper beast with antennae, and it was two days later that the decision was made. Not the cause, but the sign.

A tiny part of my heart belongs to Paris, still. Cranberry juice notwithstanding, it was the city, and the woman I was in it, the woman who knew her place and nowhere else. Knowledge lost in the inherent insecurities of my chosen education and profession, over-necessary living conditions, and discovering the ease of brushing aside over bouncing back.

Not quite the prettiest package, outside or in. We're still a work in progress up in here.

Checking In/Out

Why, hello, end of May. Where did YOU come from? It's a sign, my friends. A sign that I work too GOLL DANG much.

J started his Bar class last week, and I'm all, um? Aren't I still supposed to be doing that? Or something? This weekend felt near like summer, and there I was, kitties, doggie, ready to crack open the books. A strange swapping of essentials, bar books and ballpoints for BlackBerry and billables. There's always something preventing me from living the life in this racket.

I got my new business cards last week. Attorney-at-Law, at your service. I'm getting used to saying it, all the easier because clearly, I am feeling it, and old and tired.

The time, where does it go? Three days off felt like a miracle. Even if I spent one and a half of them working. Blargh.

esq.

This isn't the end of the journey, they said. It is just the beginning.

As of today, I am officially a member of the New York State Bar.

Feels so good.

Sprung!

Spring is here! You can tell, because the air conditioner was on in the subway. Also, my nose is beginning to tingle, a sure sign of the impending pollen-infused atmosphere.

This winter was so bleak, and so long, the sudden glorious change in climate is like the lifting of a shroud of gloom. The streets were teeming with shoppers, day lingered until well past 7 pm, and well, life just seems good.

Baseball tomorrow! First game of the season! I'll be busting out my Matsui t-shirt just for the occasion.

Out of Focus

It's been too long.

I'm not giving up on this blog entirely, but somewhere between real-life responsibility and one too many distractions, I've lost my voice.

I used to need this space to tell my stories. I may still have some stories left in me yet, but they are lost in the increasing vastness of the blog world, in stages of growing up. Life comes at you fast, they say. Thinking about it used to keep me focused on living; too often I focus on living and forget to think. That, and six years of living in New York, an open office, constant concentration on others, and all I crave is privacy. These days Narcissus himself would drown in the Internet.

All this to say, if anyone is still out there, if anyone still cares, I am indeed alive and kicking. I don't know when I'll be back or what I'll have to say on that day, or even if this is the right forum anymore. But I'm not abandoning all hope. Yet.

Pop-In

Tonight is so not cool! I gots serious shiz to do, people. And instead of doing serious shiz, I am only doing some shiz, i.e., not all the shiz that needs to be done.

The shiz that did get done was: (a) watching American Idol (I know, I can't believe it either, and I even cried when the two best guy friends did not get to go through together, because it was just wrong); (b) baking a lasagna from scratch; (c) preparing chocolate orangettes for J (orange peels are candying as we speak); and (d) continuing to write brief, due Friday at 3 pm, in defense of sexual harassment claim.

This is not a multiple-choice quiz - I really have been doing all of these things. And I'd like to point out that it is 10:45 pm and I have only been home since 8:30 pm, so I am a rockstar! Ish.

Rather than working on this brief, however, I would like to be doing other things, other things in preparation for a certain holiday on Saturday that, for the first time in my adult life, I am actually looking forward to. I mean it. I have plans, big plans, and I cannot wait to spend an entire day reveling in my sweetie. I mean, of course, every day in our little shmoopy-world is Valentine's Day, but lately we have spent most of our time bandying masterful legal theories back and forth, working, and being tired, so I made him promise: no law for a day, no moot court, no bringing work home, nothing - just us. And I'm excited. But tonight this stupid brief is putting a crimp in my preparatory plans, is all.

I don't really have a point here... so... bye.

Response: On Salary Caps

In response to Parsley's comment this morning, and Friday's article in my beloved NY Times...

To quote Polonius: Neither a borrower nor a lender be.

I applaud the idea of teaching frugality to rich people, but by focusing on the exec’s need to spend money to feel like a man, I think this article (and perhaps the accompanying outrage) misses the mark.

First, as the article correctly notes, the more you earn, the less you take home. Taxes are an enormous expense in New York City, and they increase exponentially with income. The higher the executive’s salary, the more money the government gets back. Public schools and other programs funded by taxpayers lose money when salaries decrease, positions and employees are lost, and no one is happy.

Second, and much more importantly, is the concept of “trickle-down” economics. Mock it all you like, but this is not an entirely laughable concept. Naturally, the bank exec should not be rewarded for making bad business decisions and losing billions of dollars in investments. But what about the trainers, tutors, cleaners, dressmakers, designers, charities, chauffeurs, nannies, waitresses, chefs, real estate brokers, kennels, groomers, and others who depend on him as a client for their income?

Limiting executive salaries goes beyond ripping the silk rug out from under the exec’s feet – it will result in a complete overhaul of the economy as we know it. If the collapse of Lehman Brothers has taught us any lesson at all, it is that we are all interconnected. Let’s not forget how it started: banks took advantage of people who were willing to borrow money beyond what they could ever repay. It started because Americans grew accustomed to spending wildly beyond their means, claiming partial ownership in things they had not earned and could not afford, and did not think or know how to stop. So the disaster that has befallen our society, slamming retailers and service providers alike, is not altogether the fault of the bank executives who, while enjoying admittedly higher means, at least live well within them.

In the battle between newly-unemployed tutors and newly-frugal bankers, who will wind up better off in the end?

While I do think a limit on executive salaries and bonuses is a good idea in the sense that they should not be siphoning off taxpayer money in order to bathe in luxury, I do not think they should be criticized for their lifestyle choices. We still need those who can to spend on goods and services in this economy.

Banks should, however, be accountable unto themselves. They should use the taxpayer-funded bailout money first and foremost to inject liquidity into their businesses, not reward their employees. As this sort of common sense seems to be sorely lacking within the hallowed halls of our country’s most esteemed financial institutions, I agree with the need for Congressional paternalism in the form of mandatory salary caps. However, I agree with this because of the banks’ manifest dearth of business judgment, not because I believe their employees should be punished for their lavish lifestyles.

In sum, every single person in this country needs to be taught moderation. Forcing the bankers to bear the brunt of the frustration is unfair. I blame the bank for providing a monstrous salary and bonus in the first place, not the executive for choosing to spend it. The more he hoards, the more our capitalist economy will shrink. For better or for worse, we are all in this together.