I'd forgotten that this firm is putting me up at the Cadillac of literary history venues, the Algonquin Hotel. Every door boasts a quote from the Vicious Circle -- or maybe it is all Dorothy Parker; in any case, my room offers this jewel, which has got to be some kind of vicious irony from the gods, considering my lack of love life: "Report on a Yale prom: 'If all those sweet young things were laid end to end I wouldn't be at all surprised.'" (If you're like me, you stared at that, said, "huh?" inside your head, and then started laughing uproariously in sudden comprehension.)

The room is very small, but the history of the place more than makes up for the size. And the bed actually gets turned down! And there are two round chocolate gold coins, stamped on one side with a likeness of the hotel cat, and the other side with a literary "A", on the sheets! And there's -- get this -- free wireless! And there's a crazy old-fashioned bath drain that I've only ever seen in BC's bathroom in the hood! And there's a $10,000 martini (you get a diamond with it)!

This hotel is a big, BIG plus in the Mighty Big UK Firm's column. I do love places with history.

Not much to report the past few days. Have been trying to catch up on legal history reading this holiday weekend, and have finished some of what I really needed to read.

Such lofty goals, such disappointing results. I was supposed to have gone through the firm materials and made up a decision matrix. I utterly failed in that -- did about 2 hours worth of work and "research" on greedyassociates.com on Friday, and haven't touched the big pile of promo stuff since. I was also supposed to have read five or six assignments I missed for legal history, and I am just shy of completing four. Haven't touched evidence yet.

On the other hand, I went to see the new Pride and Prejudice with Double M's family tonight, and that was a nice break from law. The movie isn't quite right -- it treats the Lizzie-Darcy romance far too seriously, with sad tinkling classical piano music at every corner. It wasn't an angst fest! It wasn't a woe-is-me! woe-is-me!-type dark brooding romance! It's about warmth and wit and laughter, and the movie hit the tragedy bell waaaaaay too often. Also -- Keira is pretty and all, but 57 close-ups of that face in as many minutes is TOO MUCH. Stop with the caressing close-ups!

Tomorrow I go back to NYC, and visit another firm, to get my ticket back to Crimson City.

At Double M's house, with Double M's parents and grandmother. Woke up at 7:30 am to run the Turkey Trot, a local 2-miler. Damn, it was cold. I should have brought my sweat-wicking poly-pro camping shirt and pants, but forgot -- and isn't the Mid-Atlantic supposed to be warmer than New England?

After the race, I slept for 4 hours. Four hours! It was so not a nap.

Then the visitors came (Double M's parents' friends) and stayed for 4.5 hours. The usual gorging on turkey (free-range -- yay!), stuffing, sweet potatoes, oyster casserole, butternut squash, brussel sprouts, cranberry-orange jello mold, 2 kinds of pie. Oof. Uncomfortably full. And mysteriously thirsty as a sailor out to sea.

It's so nice to be a kid at the holidays again. It snowed a little last night -- not enough to stick, but enough for a light dusting to still linger in the morning. Even wet snow, if it's the first snow, is magical.

Damn. I liked the firm I saw today. The people seem normal and well-socialized, if slightly cautious and passive aggressive. (Hey -- that sounds like me!) I enjoyed my lunch (tuna tartare and lobster ravioli) in Grand Central with the two new associates, one of whom I remember from last year, did mediation, loved employment law and worked at the EEOC, and even did the journal I subcited for last year. Oh, and she's KA. (Cue the Twilight Zone music!)

This firm isn't known for moving associates around, though it's possible if you really want it. And it has a very small project finance practice. And it doesn't practice local law overseas (though it's unclear to me what the advantage is of that -- as one of the partners said to me, why would a French company come to a US law firm for their needs in France?). But the people seem as close to normal as I've seen thus far -- not super intense human rights advocates/ex-Marxist quirks like the firm I saw on Monday, but just smart, motivated people.

Oh dear.

I’m in another fancy schmancy New York hotel tonight, for which I think the firm pays about $280 a night. There’s some sort of nature theme going on in here, with photos of wood, grass, and ivy on the wardrobe, entertainment center (with LCD flat screen TV), and writing desk, respectively. The couch against the window is low to the ground, with three square taupe pillows. The headboard to the king-size bed (the smallest king size bed I’ve ever seen) appears to be made out of a sound-absorbing (yeah, baby, you know what that’s for) felt material. There’s an orchid blossom in a 2-inch-square glass container on the bedside table, as is on the writing desk, and a banana leaf in a taller container in the bathroom. The bedside table folds out like an old-fashioned card table, with supports that slide out.

There’s a luxurious feeling of quiet and calm in this room, which is what you pay for. On the other hand, one orchid is sort of wilting, and one of the bottles of Frederic Fekkai products in the bathroom has a stray hair clinging to the bottom.

But still, I can’t complain.

I’ve had an odd schedule the past few days. Since Fearless T was getting married on Sunday last, and I didn’t want to pay for a trip down, I scheduled a firm visit on Monday morning and had them fly me in on Saturday night. Since that firm didn’t pay for a hotel (boo! Now is not the time to be skimping on offerees, people), I stayed with MattSal and his courteous, pleasant roommate, who guided me, MattSal, and MattSal’s sig-oth through a Turkish meal for dinner. (The yogurt-dill thingee was awesome, but the salmon in fig leaves disappointing.)

On Sunday, an old friend from DC days, along with two other passengers, picked me up and drove to Fearless T’s wedding, a mostly traditional Jewish affair, except with a few omissions. The program explained that Fearless T and her husband had chosen to omit them due to their “paternalistic and mercantile nature,” which was not what they wanted their marriage to reflect. Yay, Fearless T! She has wanted to be married for so very long.

I’ve been to a Jewish wedding before, but this one was large (300 guests) and enthusiastic and at times almost frenetic, what with the groom’s friends bounce-dancing him to and fro, and a hora that lasted nearly 40 minutes. Dang! Them Jews know how to party.

It was a nice chance to catch up with a couple people from DC days whom I hadn’t seen in a number of years. One had gotten married and was prettily plump, one had gotten skinnier and glowy, one had gotten back together with the sig-oth he’d dumped, one had started business school and suggested we go skiing sometime. I felt very much a non-Jew, just like the old DC days.

After the wedding, I saw Dr. C, who drove over from the Bronx, where she’s an internal medicine resident, and we had dinner with the grad student with whom I secretly replaced MattSal. You know these grad students, they’re all the same anyway. Heh. Actually, it was very nice to eat lovely Indian food with Dr. C and MattSal’s roommate. Dr. C is as tall and gentle and languorous as ever, but somewhere along the years, she also became this total hottie, rocking that multi-ethnic, almond-eyed thing. Did I just miss it in college?

I saw one of my short-listed firms on Monday, and came away a little stunned and wordless, especially because of my second interviewer, who used to head up the publications department at a think tank, and said things like, “When I was younger, I thought it was terrible to be part of the system. That it was enough to stand on the sidelines and criticizing the system. But I grew tired of not having any effect on anything. The system isn’t going to go away any time soon. Capitalism is a very well-running machine now. There are stress points, and whenever I do business in a foreign country where there are those stress points, like a place where the rich-poor gap is huge, I spend all my free time socializing with influential people like bankers and lawyers – I’m not talking to gardeners here – telling them that they need to change the system in their country, that they need to pay their taxes and decrease that gap.”

Damn. I didn’t expect to be listening to an former Marxist-turned-corporate lawyer. I brought this conversation up with the next person I talked to, a very recent hire – she started 1.5 months ago, and she said, “Yeah, I try to check in with myself to see if I’m comfortable with the work that I’m doing. So far, nothing too bad.”

Weird, intense people. Not a real comfy place.

Ooh, my $26 spicy tuna roll has arrived. (Yes, $26 fucking dollars -- $16 for the roll, $3 for service charge, $3 for room charge, and $3 for tip.)

After I saw the weird intense firm, I went back to MattSal’s, packed up my stuff, and went back to Crimson City. Where I had the firm dinner, with all its amusements.

This morning I went to employment law class, had lunch, packed, read some employment law cases, and came back to New York on a bad, bumpy ride prolonged by some delays on the ground. Hence, lots of circling and unease in the stomach area. Ugh.

And now I’m sitting in this cool, quiet schmancy hotel room, in its shades of muted browns and grays, and it’s time to eat my $26 sushi roll, take a shower, pull on my terry cloth robe, and go to bed.

Tomorrow, I’m seeing the firm I saw on 10/27. This is part of my ploy – I’m spending the turkey day with Double M and her family in DC, and since I felt I should see a couple firms again, I thought, “Why not have them pay for my flight down to DC too?” It was no problem to book a trip from Crimson City to New York and “back to” DC with one firm, and then book the opposite trip at the end of Thanksgiving break. Most delightful. And really not of consequence to the firms – it’s the same price for them. Oh, if only I could sponge off these firms forever! (In my defense, it’s not true sponging – after all, I do have to visit them. It’s more like… serendipity.)

Okay, on to the sushi!

It appears that my approach to firm dinners has not gone unnoticed. To wit, tonight's dinner (tapas, paella, and luscious desserts: manchego cheese/quince paste, fruit and chocolate crepe, almond cake, "ubiquitous flan") started out pretty positive but turned excruciating about an hour in. At some point, I gave into fatigue and essentially stopped talking or even pretending to listen -- I just blissfully ate my manchego and grapes and eviscerated the crepe without making eye contact with anyone. Usually I would leave that point, but because of the small number of offerees (5) and the intimate setting, I felt somehow guilty about leaving early. Finally, one of the offerees, Broke Nose, stood up and made apologies, and three of us (Broken Nose, Diplomat, and me) left en masse.

Outside the restaurant:

Broke Nose: "Dude, didn't you see me trying to make eye contact with you?"

"What?"

"Dude, I have to tell you, you have been an inspiration all this season. You're always the last to arrive and the first to leave, so I was wondering, 'Why the hell isn't she leaving?'"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes! Finally, I decided I had to do it, so that's why I got up."

Diplomat: "Really?"

"Yeah," I admitted, "I usually have a 90 minute rule -- that's all I can take -- and I want to eat, so I arrive about 45 minutes late and leave right after dessert. But tonight, I don't know, I felt weird..."

Broke Nose: "Dude, I kept thinking, 'Why isn't she leaving! She always leaves early!' And you're always making these deep connections with the people -- like last week, at the other Mighty Big UK Firm dinner, you were like bonding with that woman from the UK, and I was like, 'Are they sisters?' They're totally bonding!"

"She was a talker," I protested, "I could have not been there at all, and she would have talked the same amount!"

"And at that other dinner, you arrived like 45 minutes late and you were making the whole table laugh!"

"Uh, that's not true."

"Well, at that dinner, I was the only offeree at my table, and they were all trying to bribe me to come with Mets tickets, saying they'd get a prize if they got me to come to their firm."

Broken Nose, Diplomat and I agreed, "At first these firm dinners seemed like a good idea -- free food and all -- but you really pay for it in blood, sweat, and tears."

Diplomat complained, "Yeah, I was there first, and I was staring at those two empty chairs and thinking, 'Who the hell are these people, and WHY aren't they here yet?' The guy next to me was checking his Blackberry at first, until the partner told him to stop."

This was the last firm dinner. And I am so glad.

I must admit to being a little smug about my MO. Heh.

Oh, the last dinner of the week. (Warm goat cheese and raisins on a oddly but pleasantly salty bed of greens, sea scallops with deep-fried asparagus on a kind of chick pea puree, pear slices on a round piece of cheesecake.) If I had the energy, I would shout for joy.

It's difficult to sustain the energy. When you're an introvert, it takes an enormous amount of effort to go to a party. I have to psyche myself up to go to these dinners, where you have to meet and greet and listen and chat and be agreeable and pleasant. I've had dinner (and drinks) paid for by firms each night this week, and it's exhausted me.

This last one, a front runner, is a very good domestic firm, based in New York, but known for international work and for sending people to different offices. There was an ultra-annoying, extremely fratty guy at the table, but he works in DC. The woman to the left of me had a masters in philosophy but was a little bland and awkward. (She did say there was a lot of legislative history research in tax, which caused my ears to perk up -- I love that stuff.) I talked with the guy to the right of me about traveling in Cambodia and India.

After the shuffle (the moment between entree and dessert when associates move tables so we offerees can get a range of people to meet), I ended up sitting between a rather good-looking young associate and a 3L who'd accepted her offer. They knew each other, so I wound up listening to them chat for a while, and then the 3L moved in and did an excellent sell job on the firm. She had an advanced degree in Chinese history and had spent some time there, so we talked about the amazing speed of social change in Korea and China. She had actually summered at a UK firm, which I'm considering, and outlined her reasons for choosing this domestic firm: (1) in a bigger firm, you have more leeway in terms of people picking up your work if you really need to attend to personal issues; and (2) she thought people who left this firm left to do interesting things.

Overall, I felt the same I did about almost every other firm -- nice people, could work with them -- but this one does seem to really offer the option to work overseas. And it's supposedly a "nice" (read: non-screamer) firm.

Of course, last night, I really enjoyed the smaller, more intimate grouping of the UK branch office, and I'd definitely get the chance to work overseas there too.

I'll be giving this all more serious thought over Thanksgiving.

Yet another day, yet another firm dinner.

Two, in fact, tonight.

The first was across the river (tasty scallion pancakes, and the everpresent jumbo shrimp appetizers) and done by a Mighty Soul-Sucking Firm. They have a reputation for being a screamer firm -- a culture that tolerates partners screaming at associates. Reputedly a bad place to work. It's also ranked the highest of all the firms I'm looking at.

The two people I talked to there weren't so bad. At least they were willing to cut the BS and address the issues. I liked that. This is a firm I liked interviewing at; the morning I interviewed there, the sun was shining for the first time in days. I thought that might be a sign. But I came back to school and the rumor mill kept harping on the poor quality of life there, so I was considering taking it off my list. It's back on now.

The second firm was in Crimson Square at a tres expensivo restaurant (like all the firm dinners). (A very nice blue cheese and some sort of shaved potato crisp salad at this second place. I ordered a porcini mushroom risotto. I should have ordered the salmon.) The group was small -- only about five or six 2Ls considering the summer, plus four or five 3Ls who have accepted and several firm people. It's a UK "Magic Circle" firm -- quite prestigious. Very international, and you do have a chance to go overseas right away. And the New York office is small, so everyone seems to know each other.

But international people are weird. That's not people who are firmly grounded in their own cultures -- it's wonderful to meet them and learn about their lives and outlooks on life. But people who criss-cross cultures and really move around -- they're a little odd. The three people or so I talked with were a little stiff, a little robotic. I didn't get to talk to one of the charming British partners -- maybe I would have had a better impression if I had. As it was, I left thinking that it was a great firm to work for if I really want to go international -- the New York office is smaller than most of the places I'm looking at, and has a very civilized air to it. But the people seem a little out of touch.

Another night, another firm dinner...

This one was on the ground floor of a beautiful museum in Crimson City. Points for that!

No chocolate with weird Spanish proverbs, unfortunately.

People were perfectly nice and unoffensive. Yeah, I could work with them. Just like people at most every other firm.

I should probably just weed out the ones where I did meet offensive people. There were a couple, scattered here and there.

God, evidence reading is truly chapping my hide.

Went to a firm dinner tonight and didn't mind it much. I adopted my usual approach of grabbing a glass of something -- ANYthing -- and standing off by myself, waiting. I think I stood there for four minutes before someone glanced my way and made a beeline over to persuade me that their Mighty Big Firm was the best.

I ended up sitting at a table with two 3Ls who'd just accepted, both of whom were very nice, and four lawyers, who were just chatting and catching up. Which was very nice too -- got to see some interaction between people, and it totally took the pressure off from having to maintain conversation and ask questions and generally feel like I have to make the dinner COUNT for something as far as decisionmaking goes.

There was a woman there tonight who now does some contract work for the firm (she moved to another city) who made a very good case for this particular Mighty Big Firm. Another 2L and I were talking when she dropped by, and the other 2L joked, "Oh, hk was just leaving, she's not very social. She stays for 2 hours at most."

"Actually, an hour and a half is about all I can take," I said.

"You are totally my kind of person," said the lawyer, and proceeded to disparage law students, lawyers, the whole kit and caboodle. "This Mighty Big Firm isn't fratty," she said, neatly tying it back to the goal of the evening. "There's no social pressure, you don't have to go these events if you don't want to. People have stuff to do after work and that's fine."

I bolted out of there pretty soon after that (I'd hit the 90 minute mark) and breezed by the guys at the front door with a "Hi! Bye!" (literally), but was stopped for just a moment when one of the greeters said, "Wait! Take one of these!" It was a bar of Ghirardelli chocolate with the firm's name on it and the inscrutable message: "Ideas should be clear and chocolate dark. - Spanish proverb"

Yeah. It's funny. But I did start considering this place seriously tonight. It seems like a grownup type of place. I do want the opportunity to go overseas, though, and I don't know that it offers that. And the assignment system is funky -- apparently you get on a team of lawyers who mostly do a certain type of work, but not always. It's not divided by practice area, which is weird.

On the way home, I dialed a couple people, including Mr. Rocks, to see if he was in the office at that time (he wasn't), and Def and Stave. I considered calling Mr. Destroyer, because I am stupid, but redeemed myself by calling Joiner instead and demanding that she convince me not to call.

I've since deleted Mr. Destroyer from my phone. It's just too dangerous otherwise.

A most jarring 24 hours.

At 3:30 am Saturday morning, I was woken by loud knocking on my door. I bolted upright, heart pounding. Bizarrely, my first thought was, "They're here to get me!"

I called out: "Who is it?"

"Joiner!"

"What's wrong?" I said, stumbling out of my bed and toward the door.

Frantically knocking on the RA's door, she said, "I need help! I need to go to the hospital!"

"What?" The RA came to the door.

"I've been throwing up for the past hour, and I think I'm going to pass out."

"Call 911!" the RA said, and I ran for the phone.

"911. I have you calling from ---- State Street. What is your emergency?"

"My friend -- she's been throwing up, she thinks she's going to black out," I blurted out.

Joiner did not look good. Ghost white, her lips were purplish and blue, her skin clammy.

The dispatcher said that an ambulance would be on the way. I went downstairs to grab Joiner's coat and shoes. In a few minutes, a fire truck pulled up outside our building. The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"This is the emergency operator. Can you let the firemen in?"

"Yes, yes, someone's gone down to let them in."

The EMTs and firemen took Joiner's vitals, asked her some questions, and we went downstairs, into the ambulance, and to the hospital, where it took 10 minutes to check Joiner in. Then we waited. 5 minutes passed. 10 minutes.

I went up to the counter, "Um, is a doctor coming? It's been 10 minutes."

"Yes, they're coming. I put a note on the nurses' station. They know."

Another 5 minutes passed. A doctor came out with a patient, looked at us, and then went back inside.

Finally, a nurse came out and we went into the triage room, where she took Joiner's blood pressure. It was a little high but within normal range. Joiner gave her the details, and the nurse took us back into the ward.

A bit later, a doctor came by and listened to Joiner's story again. Recommended a saline drip and an anti-nausea medicine, mentioning that there had been a nasty flu going around.

After an hour or so, Joiner's nausea was under control, and the saline bag was half empty. The nurse came by and asked if she wanted to go home. Um, shouldn't you be making that determination? we wondered. But Joiner was feeling better. We hypothesized that she had been suffering a bit of a panic attack while she threw up back at the dorm, and was okay now. The nurse called a car from Crimson Security to take us home. We had to wait nearly an hour for it, but it finally came, and we went back to the dorm.

Joiner went to sleep around 8:30 am, and I went to my parent-child mediation training, which I begged off of, since I was so tired. It was a bit of a blessing, actually, since I didn't really want to do it.

Went to bed around 9 am and sleep soundly until noon, and then again until 3:30 pm, when Joiner called. She was fine, but felt quite empty, so we went to the store and got her some soup and me a sandwich.

Discombobulated by the events of the day, and by the unexpected free time, I spent a hour or two straightening my room, dealing with receipts from the two recruiting trips I'd taken, and returning phone calls, one of which was to Neener. I happened to catch her on her way to the gym, so I said I'd meet her there and hang out a bit.

Did so, and then remembered that I was supposed to meet Mr. Destroyer for a drink tonight. Called and asked if he were still interested, which he was, so I went home, changed, and went.

Mr. Destroyer is living off-campus this year, serving as a RA-type person in an undergrad dorm. His room is a bit like an apartment, actually, and with lemon chiffon/pale daffodil paint in the living room and the sage green in the bedroom, it felt quite civilized.

We had one of his bottles of wine, which was also quite civilized. Two kinds of cheese. Crackers. Toast. Tea. We listened to jazz and classical music -- I discovered a new Baroque composer whom I liked. Occasionally he went out to check on the party in one of the kids' rooms, and regulate the noise. Upon invitation, I curled up in his very expensive leather chair. Which was luxuriously comfortable, in a very manly way.

Conversation ranged from our job choices this coming summer to the nature of passion. At one point he asked if I ever felt passionate about people. After thinking about it, I think I do feel deeply moved by my relationships with certain family members, and said so. I don't remember what he said about that.

We talked about money, and parents. Late in the evening, around 12:30 or so, he asked why I didn't trust him, referencing something I said the last time I saw him, when -- in my defense -- I was pretty trashed and was trying to answer his inherently unanswerable question about why I wasn't more open with him.

I said that I wanted some assurance that the people I confided in were going to treat my confidences with a certain respect, would value those confidences. And that maybe I needed to feel that those people cared about me. Whereupon he said, "So I've failed in both respects." And laughed.

I think I said it remains to be seen.

All this was ... odd. Double M advised a while ago that I avoid Mr. Destroyer. That would undoubtedly be the wiser course of action. I have only seen Mr. Destroyer twice this semester, but they've been strange interactions for me, full of doubt about motives and wariness about being drawn into the Destructo-sphere. Mr. Destroyer is a Destroyer, afer all, and I am just as susceptible to destruction as any one. It's odd to recognize that trait in someone, and yet feel drawn toward them. But that's the way it is with Destroyers.

And another one bites the dust... the 13th caller has rung in, ladies and gentlemen, and les jeux sont fait. The San Francisco firm just called with an offer.

And what do we have in the mail today? Why, a long-sleeved t-shirt (too big) from one Mighty Big Firm, and a boring package of forms and a directory (as if I want one) from another. I suppose I can wear the shirt to sleep in.

Saw the French King last night for dinner at Chase Henry's, where we split a salad and a Cuban sandwich. Did you know that a Cuban sandwich without the pork is basically bread and cheese? Sigh. It's not a big thing, really, to give up beef/pork/chicken/eggs (unless free range), but sometimes it is a bit annoying.

The cornichons were tasty, though.

Went to a party thereafter, thrown by the human rights group. It was not as painful as I thought, mostly because it was off campus and seemed like an adult-ish affair. I've been working on a research project for this group that has been chapping my hide for the past few weeks, mostly because I don't know what I'm doing and feel like a big ole fraud. Also, I don't like leading things. Fortunately, after a couple more hours of work this afternoon, I should be done. Human rights. Eh. As the French King put it, I'm a Daily-Show-watcher-type of liberal, and prefer my activism in moderation. The world needs activists, but I'm not one of them.

Just a couple riffs...

I forgot to mention that there was a funny amount of choreography at the Mighty Big Firm dinner I went to on Monday -- after the entree, one or two people from each table moved around. The guy who moved into the seat next to me was a "closer," who said things like, "I know exACTly what you mean. I was in the SAME position." It's was somewhat effective, and very funny.

Coming back from SF, I dimly became aware that fall had fallen upon Crimson City. The trees are brown or yellow or red or orange. Leaves cover the ground. The air is sharp and cold.

I did not pay for lunch today, having signed up for one of a series of alumni speakers. This fellow had graduated in 1948 from Crimson College Law School, and had done solo practice, small firm practice, judgeships and finally helped set up a judicial system for a Native American tribe in his state. He was short and white-haired and funny and had a soft, blurry, Carolina accent. He exhorted us not to get tied up in the quest for money, pointing out that we were in the law school, not the business school. He said, "You are here getting a law degree so you can serve justice. For the people." It was a good thing to hear, and a good time to hear it, what with conversations to the left and right of me about which private law firm we are all going to next summer and next year.

Went to an offeree dinner yesterday at the most expensive restaurant in town. To the left of me sat a girl who, when I asked the leading question, "So if you know that you're just a cog in the machine for the first two years because you're just learning the basics, then do you derive satisfaction from knowing that you're helping a rich company make more money?" answered: "That's exactly right! You see what I'm saying."

I was ready to shoot myself after the salad.

Went to another event* tonight at a fancy restaurant in town. Learned my lesson and left after an hour and a half, just after dessert.

The NYC recruiting partner was being very friendly and recruit-y, so we chatted about his hobbies, and then he asked me mine. Now, I swear, i wasn't TRYING to make him uncomfortable, but this is what came out: "Well, I'm trying to get into reading books for pleasure again. In fact, I just read this really fascinating book written by a Crimson College Law School grad about a black Crimson College Law School grad who sued his firm for employment discrimination, and it was so interesting because in a place where lots of people are unhappy about the way they're treated -- perhaps because of the vagaries of particular partners or whatever, how can you really tell if race is the factor?"

He stared at me for a moment, wheels turning, and then: "Uh huh. Yeah, we have a diversity coordinator, and uh, hey, did you hear about our diversity weekend?"

Poor guy. He was really nice. But I was feeling waspish at some level, I suppose. Maybe a little devilish.

In any case, I hightailed it out after 90 minutes, and that was a good thing. Too much schmoozing makes hk a dull, deadly irritated girl.

* It was advertised as "cocktails with HEAVY appetizers." The "heavy appetizers" turned out to be a sit-down meal of an appetizer, a dinner entree and dessert. Why not just say "dinner," dude?

What a fucking doozy of a weekend.

Thursday night, I tempted fate by getting into a cab 55 minutes before my 2:55 pm flight for San Fran, for the 13th and final callback. Lulled by the ease with which you can get the next flight to New York, I assumed it would be fine to slip on the flight or get the next one.

Wrong, my dear stupid hk, formerly favorite of the gods and now anything but.

I got to the self-service check-in American Airlines counter and slid my card for ID purposes, punched the buttons and got no love: "You may no longer check into this flight. Please choose the next flight available."

The next flight was at 7 pm. I'd get into SF at 10:30 pm.

I got the attention of an agent and said, "Look, I can't check into my flight."

"What time is your flight?"

"2:55."

"You have to check in 30 minutes before the flight. You're too late."

"It's 25 minutes before the flight!"

"The system won't let you do it."

"Then override the system! They're still boarding! I can make it!"

"No, they're in final boarding. And I can't override the system."

And the agent turned away to help someone else.

I stood there, stunned. My plane was boarding, and they wouldn't let me get on. It was still at the fucking gate, and they wouldn't let me get on. My face burned, as if someone had slapped me.

After a few minutes of standing impotently at the self-service counter, I called the firm's travel agent and explained. Was there another flight, an earlier one than 7 pm? Yes, there was, he answered, but it went through Los Angeles. I would arrive at 9:30, though, an hour earlier than the 7 pm direct. Would that be okay? Yes, I said, and went to the American Airlines full-service (and that "service" is meant ironically, lemme tell you) counter.

I explained the situation to a female agent and asked about getting on that 3:45 pm flight. After staring at her computer for 5 minutes, she went without a word to a couple of other agents a few feet away, who appeared to be flirting with a delivery guy.

Another 5 minutes passed.

A woman in a white zip-up sweater rushed over, calling, "Patricia! Patricia, I need you!"

Patricia was the agent who was supposedly helping me. As she passed me on her way to the other side of the American Airlines area, she graced me with a glance and a wave toward one of the other agents, "She's helping you, okay?"

Another 5 minutes passed.

A male agent took over the research, and said there were no seats on the 3:45, or the connection from L.A. to S.F. There WERE seats on the 7 pm, but only 10, and "American likes to sell seats at the last minute, so I don't know if you'd be able to get on." He shrugged.

I called the travel agent and explained. "Well," he said, "I could get you a seat on the plane, but it would cost $600."

"Six hundred dollars!" I gasped. "I don't think the firm is going to authorize that!"

"Well, I'll call and ask."

"No, no, it's fine, I'll just go stand-by and take my chances."

"But it's the last flight of the night, and if you don't get on it, you won't be flying out tonight. Let me call her. Hold on."

He came back with authorization.

I had just cost the firm $900. Before even stepping on the airplane.

Christ.

AND I had to wait at the airport for 4 hours. Waiting at the airport is on the short list of the things I hate most in the world, and was the main reason why I'd left for the airport so late to begin with.

And herein lies the lesson of the story: hie thee to the airport early.

It's got to have SOMEthing to do with the fact that it was the 13th callback.

bigbro picked me up at SFO, bleary-eyed with fatigue, and took me to the apartment, where J1 had set up the living room with the Aerobed, topped off with cream coverlet and a box wrapped in blue and tied in gold ribbon. There were irises on the side table, and towels on the nightstand. There were 6 piles of goodies on the dining table: 2 fuzzy hand-me-down sweaters (one of which I am wearing now), bath salts, chocolate bars, samples from Calvin Klein (where J2 works now -- thanks, J2!), a sexy silk shirt, and a pile of yoga clothes and towels for me to borrow (because I loooove the Bikram yoga classes J1 introduced me to last year). Not to mention the totally awesome and amazingly effective Tempur-pedic eye mask that was in the blue box on the bed.

Awwwwww, yeaaaaahh. I love coming to visit bigbro and J1. J1 always has the coolest clothes, the coolest home decor, the coolest -- everything, really. I borrowed Malcolm Gladwell's "The Tipping Point" last week, and it occurred to me that J1 is a Maven and a Connector, in Gladwell's terms. She knows about an amazingly wide range of products, and is eager to share that knowledge, like a Maven. She also seems to know an endless parade of people, and so disseminates that knowledge like a Connector.

(Sidenote: Gladwell is a fast read and terribly interesting -- I read "Blink" on MattSal's recommendation last year -- but his social science is hardly impeccable. There's no escaping the appeal, though, of his books -- they describe everyday social phenomena like trends and fads with exuberant confidence.)

Where was I? Oh yes, at home with bigbro, sharing cigarettes and chowing down on the chicken salad J1 made.

After a nice chat, to bed it was, and a restful sleep too, with the Tempur-Pedic mask securely on.

I drove to my callback the next morning, arriving just in time despite leaving the house an hour and 15 minutes early. Traffic.

The callback was fine. All white men. The associates were unusually good-looking. Everyone wore jeans. The views of the Bay were amazing. It's a very small office of a very Big and Mighty Firm based in New York, but it's got a very California feel to it.

Since the firm gave me an all-day pass for the parking garage, I changed in the car and slipped outside after the interviews. bigbro had recommended a Vietnamese place across the street, so I went there and ordered shrimp and noodles and boba tea and vegetarian dumplings. I found a place to sit down and read "The Tipping Point." It was lovely.

After lunch, I walked around town, admiring the steep hills and gazing at the Victorian architecture against the azure sky. It was lovely. Found a teeny museum of design that was featuring the art of wine bottle labels, and spent half an hour in there enjoying the artwork.

I figured I could beat the rush hour traffic if I left around 4:30, forgetting that the West Coast is on an earlier schedule (I remember going to work by 8 or 8:30 when I interned at the Los Angeles mayor's office long ago). Oops! I spent a full hour just getting out of the city, and then an additional hour on the freeway. Dear lord, how do people live with this traffic?

I got home and, not being very hungry, nibbled on nuts and cheese and olive. Washed down with half a bottle of white wine. While watching Matrix Reloaded. Twice (kind of by accident). Whee!

Which brings us to today. I got a good start to the day -- went to yoga class at 9:30 and enjoyed it, even though my body is clearly stiff and out of shape. I was still anxious by the end of it, but felt cleansed and drained. I imagined what it might be like to do this regularly. To be all healthy and crunchy and California. I thought it might be pretty nice.

Driving back to the apartment, I took a little detour through the town of Burlingame, looking at the happy people strolling along, waiting for tables for brunch, getting their coffee. I drove through a couple of residential streets too, and found myself looking at those tidy houses and yards with flowers with a strange, powerful longing. Could it be that I want to nest now? Three couples I know have recently bought homes. Am I experiencing house envy?

Or maybe I just want to stay in one place for a while. For a change.

I went back to the apartment and took a shower, looking forward to a good day's work. I'd write up my notes about this final callback, deal with receipts, deal with the project for Student Org #2 that I am coordinating, and read for class.

It is now 7 pm. I have done none of those things. Instead, I:
- watched TV
- talked to Charm a couple times, dithering about whether we should get together tonight
- went for a very short walk, during which I called Charm again, and
- cried on the phone with Charm about the work, about the interviews, about feeling that I was on the wrong path.

I can't quite believe I've wasted an entire day. And I don't think I can deal with doing any work after I finish with this entry either. I don't know, it's like I've hit a wall, and I just can't function any more. Not for a little while.

IRONIC HISTRIONICS

hk came back to 8 messages on her answering machine, all but one of which were offer-related. Between those and the two calls I got today, I am now up to 11 offers out of 13 callbacks. I haven't even gone on the 13th callback yet!

Christ!

A girl does like to feel she's wanted.

Along with the telephonic offers, one gets the congratulatory emails from at least if not two interviewers, the invitations to dinners or diversity weekends, the proposals for marriage, the three-pound tins of cookies -- you know, the usual. Okay, not the marriage proposals. But one of the Mighty Big Firms did send me a Mighty Fucking Big Tin of Gi-normous (TM Joiner) Cookies. Each one weighs half a pound.

To mix it up, I had a telephone interview with the federal employment discrimination agency this afternoon, which was very nice and softball. I enjoyed talking to those guys a lot more than with the corporate drones I've been talking to all week. I know it's not their fault that they get excited by words like "capital markets," "derivatives" and "options," but if I had a nickel for each time I wanted to shoot them -- or myself! -- while they droned on about their jobs, I'd be rich enough to invest in those capital markets myself. One woman really did become extremely animated while trying to explain structured finance to me -- flushed cheeks, widened eyes, big smile.

It takes all kinds, I tell ya. All kinds in this world.

The funny thing about the offers is that they say exactly the same thing -- verbatim! "Well, I'm delighted to offer you a place in our summer program, hk. Everyone you met loved you. They said you were the best thing since sliced bread. They said you took the sunshine with you when you walked away from their offices. They said your eyes were like the stars and your hair like the endless seas. They found themselves composing epic poems about you, which they then posted on the firm's intranet. They wept a little as they considered how empty their lives had been before they met you. So if you have any questions about the firm, or if you want to come take a second look and meet more people, just let me know."

And what's funnier is that I play my role the exact same way. "Ooooh!" I squeal. "Thank you SOOOO much! I am just THRILLED to get the offer. I really enjoyed meeting EVERYONE in the office, so please extend my thanks to everyone I met, even that guy who couldn't contain his disdain of human rights work! When I got back to my hotel, I called everyone I knew and gushed about your firm. In fact, I'm choreographing a dance tribute to your firm that I plan to put on at school! It's a little jazzy, a little avante garde, a little Martha-Graham-meets-Michael-Jackson-meets-the-entire-cast-of-Riverdance. Whoo! What about us, girl! So -- uh, yeah. Thanks. I'm really very thrilled."

And then I hang up. And I feel the urge to drink a lot and smoke. But I don't. Because I'm too cheap to spend money on frivolities. Which I could remedy by working like a dog for a Mighty Big Firm. Not just this summer, but after law school. And really, what does it matter if you're so bored that your brain starts oozing out of your ears in order to get away, as long as you have money for your smokes and booze?

Whoo!

PS. It occurred to me that I'm not doing right by you. I should let you know exactly how much is much when it comes to these jobs. So here it is: you get $2400 a week in the summer. (Some places offer $2403 a week, which makes me think that somewhere, someone's got a sense of humor.) The annual starting salary at each of the Mighty Big Firms I'm looking is $125,000 (not including bonus) for first year associates.

Of course, when you break it down by the amount of time you put in, it's a lot less per hour than you'd think. But it's still a whole fucking lot of money.