So I'm in my $270-a-night hotel room on Madison Avenue, having just ordered tuna tartare ($20 and a Thai salad ($10), given my shoes to be shined (complimentary), and ordered wireless for my laptop ($10).

My soul is apparently worth $310 a night.

I'm in New York, with callback interviews at two Mighty Big Firms tomorrow. Took cabs to and from the airport, and am just getting over the pacing-round-the-room-feeling-like-I-can't-possibly-be-worth-all-this stage.

Did I mention the 27-inch flat screen TV?

It's so supremely weird to be wined and dined like this. And I haven't even met anyone at the firms yet!

I spent a good 10 minutes hyperventilating on the phone with Joiner, because I don't know if I can do this.

And then I reached One-Armed Maggie, who is at work and "insanely busy" at 8:30 pm on a Thursday night. That is what makes this room, the tuna tartare, the Thai salad, the shoes, and the wireless possible.

Just got my room service and gave the guy a $4 tip on the charge slip. 10 percent of the charge. Christ.