Late breaking grade news

Con law: B+ (I hoped for better, but very respectable)
Cap pun: B+ (whew! I had some fear about this, but -- respectable!)
History: full-out A! I rock!
Clinical: Pass (boring! no grades are boring!)
Clinical Workshop: A- (why the minus? where the love? I ask you.)

A much more - ahem - varied year than 1L. No cum laude for thee!

But that A in history means a lot. (Even if it doesn't count toward my law school GPA at all.)

Riffs: Four Types of Goodbyes

I. Short Efficient Goodbyes

Went to lunch with a "counsel" (someone who, for whatever reason, stepped off the partner track but still works for the firm) who was very nice and very efficient, and I said to her, "I really enjoyed working with you," and she smiled and said nice things, and turned and briskly walked away.

II. Fun Flirty Goodbyes

When I told the cute associate from Oz yesterday that I was trying to avoid work because I was leaving on Friday, he said, "What?! You can't leave. What do you mean?"

"Ah, well, you knew it couldn't last forever," I said melodramatically before cracking up and explaining: "No, I'm splitting the summer, and Friday's my last day."

"Does Other Associate know about this?"

"Yeah, I think I might have told him a couple weeks ago."

"But you can't leave. You've been fantastic. We have to take you out."

"Well, I'm sort of running out of free time."

"Yeah, I bet... are you coming back to New York?"

"No, I'm going to London after Hong Kong, and then back to school." I paused, thinking. "Hey, you guys can always fly me down from law school to take me out! Or fly me back from Hong Kong!"

"Yeah... No, we really do have to take you out. I'll talk to Other Associate and we'll find a time. Now I have to go and pick myself off the floor."

And so we're going to have coffee tomorrow afternoon. Cuteness!

III. Lonely flute-like goodbyes, with the promise of a lilting movement to follow

G, an LLM from Uruguay I got to know this year, can't come to the farewell party I'm having with BC on Friday, and so promised to come to the cocktail party of the UK Magic Circle Firm I was going to tonight. But the minutes ticked by, and no G. Finally, he called and said he was held up at the office, and that he would be there in 25 minutes, and could he at least walk me to my next appointment?

At 8:35, I left, no longer able to wait for him, as Fearless T was waiting for me in turn. And then as I walked down 71st, I saw him coming.

Turns out he has a fantastic series of jobs in the next two years: summer in New York, London in October, back to Crimson for a visiting researcher position OR Madrid for six months, Sao Paolo, and a fourth city I can't even remember.

I, being a little drunk on a couple glasses of Veuve Cliquot (damn, those lawyers like the good stuff!), gushed, "Omigod, I am going to visit you in each of these places. Expect me there!"

"Of course!" said G. "I would be so happy if you visited!"

In a few minutes, we'd reached my meeting place with Fearless T, and G gave me a kiss on the cheek (love those Latin American greetings!), and I said sadly (and a little dramatically, "Ah, but when will I see you again?"

"We will meet again," he smiled. And because his cheerfulness is always infectious, as it was during the school year, I took his proffered hand and held it tightly, and said, "Yes, you're right. We will meet again. Goodbye, G!"

IV. Rich, Melancholy, Haunting Cello-like Goodbyes

Fearless T. Was there ever a woman so open and so down-to-earth and so good-natured and so kind? Yes, and I've been lucky to know her since the D.C. days.

We've gone through periods where we haven't been in touch much, but when we do reconnect, there's endless affection and interest on her part. It's always satisfying to talk about people and their motivations with her, and hear her insightful comments and ponder her intelligent questions. Now she's married, and a psychologist, and delightfully content, and it was hard indeed to hear her say, "DC were my halcyon days, because we had a group, and we saw each other every week, and my apartment was this meeting ground."

I know that this time is the time of establishing ourselves career-wise, but then it will be babies and families, and then what? I mourn the loss of contact with friends who will be successful in work and love, because they are my family. I want to say, don't change! Let's stay where we are, so I can be full of love without fear of losing you.

Sigh. There's no sweetness to this parting's sorrow.

Free lunch

The lunch program at Mighty Big Firm is more generous than some (we have a $70 per person allowance each time we go out) and less generous than others (we are supposed to average two per week -- which many have not reached, actually, the last time I generally checked around).

There are other rules: the group must be no larger than six. There must be at least one summer and one associate. Transportation, if needed, is included in the $70 per person.

(Seventy dollars, by the way, will buy you a LOT of Indian food at a highly rated place near the office. It will not be enough for appetizer, entree and dessert at the Four Seasons.)

Today I came back from a rather nice lunch at a Vietnamese place, Le Colonial. I had the $22 sea scallop dish, and was encouraged to get dessert and an appetizer (you see why the waistline expands). The group was heavily Crimson Law-dominated (I think only one person wasn't getting or had gotten their law degree from Crimson), but there was one woman I enjoyed meeting, and another two with whom I'm friendly. So it was not bad, as lunches go.

I have mixed feelings about the lunches. I like a nice meal, sure, and a free nice meal is even better. But I hate the way we are encouraged to spend so extravagantly, just because we can. Last week I was at Lever House (where Barbara Walters was sitting right behind us), and they didn't have the first appetizer I wanted, and then didn't have the second appetizer I wanted. Now, Lever House is tres spendy, but their food isn't that great (more on that in a moment), and I also wasn't very hungry. So I said, you know, I'm just going to skip the appetizer.

At least three people offered to split their appetizer with me. I was asked if I was sure I didn't want to order one.

Okay, this was polite, but it was also, I think, borne out of this incredulity that we were at a fancy place, we were getting a free lunch, and that I really should order something -- even though I didn't want anything -- just to order something.

As I mentioned, the food at Lever House is vastly overrated, I think, and far too expensive for what it is (except their desserts, which are quite good). I've been thinking this summer that many of the tres tres places I've been eating at have been overrated -- decent food, but nothing special. There are exceptions, yes: the venison at Aquavit was superb, as was the bison at the Four Seasons (though still vastly overpriced at $50). The chicken at L'Impero was flavorful and juicy in a way chicken often fails to be.

I noticed something two weekends ago when Joiner was visiting. I took her to Town and Sushi Yasud*a, two restaurants popular among the lunch program set. And you know? The food was really good. I mean, it tasted better than any of the lunches I'd been on so far.

There's something about having to make conversation in a professional setting, with people you don't really know, that can really dampen the experience of fine dining. The food just doesn't taste as good.

Last thing about free lunch -- I've been thinking the past week or so that I'd like to thank my assistants (I have officially one admin assistant, but I sit closer to another one who has been very kind and helpful) before I leave. So I thought I'd take them out to lunch. I asked them today, and they said, "oh, but I'm giving blood tomorrow," but once they saw I was serious, they said okay, we could give blood next week. We settled on a time and place for tomorrow.

Curious, I sent an email to the summer coordinators to ask if assistants could participate in the lunch program. One of them called me back and said, "You know, that's very generous of you, but unfortunately, they are not allowed to take part in the program."

Instead of asking why, which I should have done, I breezily and easily said, "No problem, I just wanted to make sure. I'll just take them out on my own."

A few minutes later, my associate liaison called about setting up an exit lunch, at which guests are allowed, and where the limit is $80 per person (oh la la!). I told her I had just committed to taking my assistants to lunch, and that I was going out with my partner mentor on Friday. Hoping we could get around the rule, I said, "Well, if only I could take both of them as my guests for the exit lunch... But I guess if they're not allowed to participate in the lunch program..."

Unfortunately, the associate didn't take me up on my subtle suggestion, and I will simply just not go on my exit lunch. Which -- whatev. The only reason I have to be annoyed about this is based on that same instinct everyone has to order the appetizer, even if there isn't any appetizer you want.

But I do think that non-lawyers should be allowed to go on free lunches -- if you invite them as your guests, for one, and then also as fully qualified participants of the lunch program. I mean, a secretary who's worked in the tax department for 10 years is going to know a hell of a lot more about the department, the firm and the working environment than some first year associate who's been there 9 months. And while associates move around and out of the firm on a regular basis, the staff are far more permanent. If I come back as an associate, my office mate, my associate liaison, and the people I worked with and liked in any given department might very well be gone. But the longtime secretaries are less likely to have left.

On top of all that, those secretaries should be valued for the work they do, and the myriad ways in which they make my life and other associates' lives easier. The summer associates do next to nothing, and they get free lunches twice a week. The secretaries help everyone and get no free lunches, or partner dinners, or events.

Part of this is clearly a class issue for me -- my aunt, who is older than my assistant (who is a good 15 years older than me), couldn't have gotten a job like this if she had tried. I may have gone to private schools and done the horseback riding lessons and the Ivy League institutions, but my biggest childhood influences were my aunt and my uncle -- solidly blue collar, humble, frugal folk. I cringe a little at the thought that I, a relatively snot-nosed kid, am regularly treated to $70 lunches that would be beyond the budget of even the most special of occasions for my aunt and uncle.

So I do the best I can to address that tension. I offer to take my assistants to lunch. They can't take the two and a half hours that I regularly do, and I can't afford $70 lunches for each of them, but they'll have an hour, and they'll have $15 entrees, and I hope they'll have a decent time of it with me tomorrow.

Late night post

It's late, and a school night, and I must to bed, but in the interest of being able to pretend that I am updating regularly, let me excerpt an email I sent today to Joiner:

hi [Joiner],

i'm feeling very random and incoherent today. bad for work. but keep reading for
a really discombobulated email...

saw julia roberts in soho on saturday!

did NOT see keanu reeves at union square cafe, even tho [The Ringleted One] said she's seen him there twice and he lives down the street. bummer. after seeing barbara [walters] and julia, i sort of expect to see mega famous people everywhere i go.

still in LURVE with liev schreiber. i hate you, naomi watts.

(but keanu should still call me, esp. since his new movie is coming out and
looks cool)*

i too went to a gay bar this weekend, and heard the BEST little gay boy
folk/acoustic guitar/singers/songwriters. one of them sat next to me after he
was up and i told him he was the best one so far, and he said i was sweet and
shook my hand. aw! (jay brannan -- totally going to be big someday -- he really
is an amazing singer.)

And so on. Saw willthethrill's dad tonight -- he's here for a deposition. It's been about 5 years since I've seen him, and 8 since we worked together at Club DOJ. Now he's a father and about to become a partner at his firm (I really can't imagine him NOT getting an offer to become partner).

The best thing about being in New York was seeing my friends so often (and even then, not often enough). And all those who come here, for business or pleasure.

Man! Just when I had washed my hands of this town, The Ringleted One comes in and shows me the delights of downtown, I have a perfect weekend, fireworks go off in
Central Park for no apparent reason, willthethrill's dad comes into town, and the city seems sweet and laden with promise.
--------
* Addendum: Oh, and Stephen Colbert, you should still call me too. I got enough love for all kinds in my big big heart.
--------
And some more blather

Just had to get this thought down -- I've been walking around in a Macbeth/Liev-haze today and this past week, and I wanted to own up to it (yes, 30 years old and still crushing on actors!) and own it as well. Because yes, Schreiber is insanely hot, but it was his magnetic performance that made him hot, you see. He inhabited his character, he was Macbeth. Schreiber was the show, the show was Schreiber. So I'm not as embarrassed as I might be, because it was the show, in its magnificent setting, in the most perfect of summer nights, that shook something awake that that night.

You know that feeling. That perfect aria. The perfect punk song. That view from the top of the mountain. The faint scent in the air that makes you raise your head and breathe in deeply. That brief glow, copied in half a dozen other places for half a second, in a darkened field of fireflies. That touch of the sublime, in whatever form tickles your particular tastes, after which you can't quite come back to the world, caught in an elevated state of appreciation and awareness made almost painful by your knowledge that it won't last. That inevitably, you'll touch down, back among the mundane, until the next time something beautiful prods you awake again.

I used to be more of a dreamer, more in touch with that awareness, that ... awakeness, if that makes sense. Didn't we all? Does it have to be so infrequent now?

Briefly

The Ringleted One is visiting, and sweet raisins in the California sun, the weekend has been fun.

But it started out on this note: on Friday, at 11 am, I was expecting to lunch at Le Cirque with a group of summers and associates that I think I like, and was looking forward to getting to know. At 11:15, I got a call from partner in the credit department, and I knew I was sunk. As you might expect, I got an assignment, which had to be done by 2:30, which I didn't enjoy, wasn't sure I did right, and necessitated me bowing out of the anticipated lunch.

It wasn't Le Cirque I was disappointed about. I had really been looking forward to chatting with the people at lunch. And lord help those with outsize senses of disappointment, but -- I went to the bathroom and actually dropped a few tears. Fatigue, disappointment, annoyance, and helplessness washed over me.

When I went back to my desk, I wrote this to myself:

remember this moment. remember this moment of awful disappointment and terror and sadness. because there will be even more important events than a lunch with people whom you actually like in the future. there will be birthdays and weddings and anniversaries and holidays and visits by family or friends, and these too would have to stand aside at the beck and call of a senior associate or partner.
remember this moment of knowing that you're terrified of this assignment because you don't understand it, and more than that, you don't want to understand it, because it holds no interest for you. because there will be times when you get an assignment that bewilders you more than this, and which you'll want to do even less than this, and you'll be forced to do it, at the expense of that wedding or visit or birthday or holiday.
remember this moment, of knowing that your life is not your own, that your much-anticipated plans can be completely shut down, that the only reason you would ever consider doing this is money, for this job is not within the wildest stretches of your desires or interests or ambitions, it would only ever be a means to freedom from debt incurred from a stupid step to get a degree you neither want nor appreciate. because if you do this job, your life will not be your own, it will be forever servant to someone else's worries about money, someone else's desire to make money, someone else's whims.
remember this moment. is it worth it? you can live most of your life in relative luxury -- real luxury, compared to 99 percent of the world -- but you'll never be able to fully rest, knowing that you can be called in, called back, at any time.
is it worth it?

I don't know. Is it? Starting pay for a NY law firm associate is $140,000.

All the things I'd been saying to myself -- yes, the work is hard and boring at times, yes, the lifestyle sucks, yes, the rewards dubious -- suddenly crystalized at Friday midday to this one thought: "They own me." For $140,000, they would own me.

That was a good thing to realize.

Late Wednesday Thoughts, Floating Up and Away

Started out the day unpleasantly, with a tap on the elbow that turned out to be the finger of Friend. Friend, who two weeks ago again wanted to know why it was that we couldn't be together, since we seemed to get along so well, and since I seemed to like him last year, and thus forever shutting the door to any chance I might have again seen him as anything but annnoying and immature.

Harsh words, I know. But he kinda deserves it.

Fortunately, I transfer at 96th Street, and so was able to flee within a few stops. I was so unhappy sitting there with him, trying not to be totally rude, but also feeling like he was the LAST person on EARTH I wanted to see, much less be forced into speaking with.

A wee bit of work this morning on an environmental due diligence project that I apparently should have done yesterday. Whatev.

Lunch at the Four Seasons, where the staff provided two of our party with jackets, even though it was the ladies who were freezing in that high-ceilinged dining room with the frothy pseudo-Greek stone bathing square in the middle and various palm trees, incongruous and wistful.

I had a $15 broccoli vichyssoise and a filet of bison (all the better to follow up on the venison I had yesterday at Aquavit, a fancy Swedish restaurant -- when I fall off the vegetarian bandwagon, I fall but hard) that cost somewhere between $40 and $50. I was sitting at a table with the grandson of Kurt Vonnegut and a beautiful Palestinian man. A kid across the room was eating a huge pile of pink cotton candy (not on the menu, but you can order it). We ended up going over the limit of $70 per person, and had to shell out $23 each. For seven people, the bill was $500, and thus, the tip was $100. As my contracts professor said, that's nice bread.

The bison was very good. I asked for it without the foie gras on top. I do draw the line at the liver of a goose that was force fed to create such a delicacy, just as I draw the line at a baby cow kept in darkness and immobile for its short life, to create tender meat. I just feel too badly to even try it.

In the afternoon, I did a small research project for the cute associate from Oz, which in the end involved a trip down to the firm library for an actual honest-to-god real-life book -- an IMF publication that wasn't online, or included in the reaches of the Crimson E-Resources library. After searching the web for it, I had a small surge of brilliance and called the firm librarian, who showed me how to search the firm's collection. And lo, it was there. And lo, I went to fetch it from the 10th floor. And lo, it had the exact info I was looking for (the extent of control certain governments have over their countries' exchange rates). And lo, the book was Good.

I left the firm with one of the three clothing items I need to return -- this one was a skirt whose twin ripped the first day I wore it (I had purchased three skirts, two in the same style but different colors, and one nicer black one). I had it repaired, reinforced, and it ripped again, this time not along the seam, but the fabric itself. Forty bucks, and the shoddiest manufacturing I've seen in a while. I've had skirts a quarter of that price that were better made.

Although it was more than 2 weeks since I'd bought it, and it was a sale (and therefore non-refundable) item, I explained the situation and won myself an exchange. Then hunted through the store for half an hour in an almost vain search for something, ANYthing I wanted to wear. In the end, I bought a skirt identical to the nicer black one that didn't rip. It's a sleek enough looking pencil skirt.

I went to One-Armed Maggie's house after that, since it is coming upon my last week in the city, and I haven't seen my friends as much as I would have liked. I bought ingredients for bruschetta along the way, and we had dinner. One-Armed Maggie's grandfather died last week. Double M's grandmother died last month. And my uncle's sister, the only sibling he is still in touch with, is dying in Oklahoma this week.

Someday, when I die, will I have grandchildren who will mourn? And will some child (maybe an adult, but a child to me) think about me briefly as they witness my grandchild's sorrow?

Incommunicado

Over two weeks, and not a peep from me, thanks to busyness and laziness and the ever-present feeling that damn, I'm in New York, and I should really be out and about seeing beloved friends as much as I can, and experiencing this city to the hilt on this salary. It's wearying, I tell you, to live the fabulous life I do.

This blog entry is brought to you courtesy of the HOTT Liev Schreiber, whom I just saw playing Macbeth in Central Park, partnered by Jennifer Ehle, she of BBC Pride and Prejudice fame, as Lady "Just Call Me OCD" Macbeth.

It's been at least a decade since I've read Macbeth, and I watched it with a pleasure that surprised even me. Part of it was the venue -- the Delacort Theatre is flanked by a pond and a weird castle thing on a hill, and it's completely outside (I amused myself briefly by thinking of the actors playing through in the rain, as it did sprinkle a bit during the day -- as that would mean my own personal soaking, I am glad it a remained dry). The theatre is in the middle of Central Park, perhaps listing a bit toward the western edge, and I walked there from Madison Avenue after a day of doing zero hours of work. That in itself is a little depressing in its way. But the velvety grass and the people playing frisby and soccer and softball, and the whispering trees and the kind face of the parks service guy who directed me toward the theatre did much to soothe the weary corporate, citified soul.

Mighty Big Firm had dinner for us backstage, overlooking said pond and up at said castle-y thing, and it was pleasant, though I would have enjoyed it more, of course, with friends. Just being outside in the warm but not too warm summer evening, in the park, with a beer and picnic food, was lovely.

I was disappointed by Ehle's Lady M -- I imagine a steely, chilly Lady M, and Ehle was a touch too breathy and emotive in her reading of the lines. When I think of Lady M, I think of Laura Bush (funny, I thought of her first and Hillary Clinton second). Can't you imagine her being all strong and pulled together, but then slowly unraveling under the weight of a guilty conscience? (Maybe that's why I thought of her first - I don't think Hillary would unravel. Not to rag on the Hill or anything -- I actually like her.)

But Liev Schreiber -- dear lord, the man is insanely hot, and an amazing actor to boot. He played Macbeth a little weepily for my taste, but got the underlying terror just right, as well as the tragic sense that he could have had a perfectly beautiful life had those damn witches minded their own business. Speaking of which, I don't remember the words with which the play actually ends, but I think they were altered to convey a strong message of anti-war sentiment -- the witches (called "weird sisters" in the playbill -- was that in the play? I don't remember so) at the end circle around Malcolm and ask, "When shall we three meet again?" And the stage goes black. Nice touch.

You know, I saw Sweeney Todd earlier this summer, and didn't enjoy it half as much as tonight's performance. A preference for plays over musical theatre? Maybe. The Liev factor? Quite possibly. Whatever the reason, I loved it.

Oh dear LORD

To my mother: please stop using me to get my father back. It sucks for me, won't work, and will ultimately disappoint you. And it makes me feel mean when I tell you I won't be the go-between. So stop.

To Friend: please STOP STOP STOP asking me why I think we wouldn't be a good couple. It sucks for me, won't work, and will ultimately disappoint you. And it makes me feel mean when I tell you (for the FIFTH TIME) that I can't tell you a reason because there is no logical reason. (It's called feelings. They change. STOP ASKING ME TO EXPLAIN THEM.)

Otherwise, a lovely day with friends, both at brunch and at a flea market where three of us bought antique glass bottles from a knowledgeable and interesting digger of artifacts (who probably buys these things from a store down the street and laughs all the way home at us gullible fools). I love my friends.

What is success?

A busy week this past week; in brief:

Tuesday:

- Not much work at work, but after work, worked hard at getting a nice pair of shoes for the office.
- Followed the shoe-hunting with a nice dinner with Mr. Rocks down in the Wall Street hood.

Wednesday:

- In the a.m., asked a retired partner (euphemistically called "Senior Counsel") about his pro bono mediation; turns out he's trying to break into the field, and invites me to come along to one the next day.
- This necessitates buying a suit for real, so I plan to do so before the chocolate tasting, only I get slammed with two assignments two hours before I was planning to slip out, so I just call the associate who gave me the second assignment and say hey, I can't do your assignment today. Sorry!
- The chocolate tasting was interesting ("Do you taste the citrus?" "No, it tastes kind of like old tobacco to me.") but stomach-achey. It was held at a partner's bazillion-dollar townhouse on the Upper East Side (I didn't even know there WERE houses for the rich in New York - I thought they all lived in penthouses on Park Ave.). That ended around 9 pm, at which point I returned to the office and worked until 12:30. Well, at least I got a free dinner and a car ride home.

Thursday:

- I went to the funnest mediation EVER. It was all about money, both parties had money to spare, so it was just shuttling back and forth between two groups of people playing their roles perfectly -- blustering, acting outraged, making like they were about to leave the room, etc. But everyone knew it was a game.
- Around midday, there were rumblings about lunch, but one party had to leave at 2:30, so no one wanted to take the time to go out for lunch. There were more rumblings about sending someone out to get lunch. The retired partner wondered aloud if the mediation office might have any menus from the local deli, and looked over at me with a kind of suggestion in his eyes. I gave him what must have been the Look of Don't You Even THINK It, because he shut up about it and later went himself to check on the menu situation. In the end, the summer associate and the first year from one side had to get sandwiches for everyone, which made me laugh. That's right, bitches! Get me my tuna on wheat! (Except ... that'll totally be me in a year.)
- I returned to the office in a jolly mood and promptly turned down another assignment next week so I could take part in a training session I thought would be more valuable for me.
- Although I was exhausted, I decided to go to a function hosted by Firm #2 of the summer, Magic Circle Firm, which was really very pleasant. It was a cocktail thingee at another bazillion-dollar townhouse on the Upper East Side (just 4 blocks away from the one I went to on Wednesday night, actually), and the summer class at Magic Circle Firm is really small (just 10 people), and the atmosphere was much cozier and friendlier. I met two summers who will be working at the London office the same time I'll be there, and had a couple nice conversations with various lawyers and summers. In comparison, the chocolate tasting the night before seemed impersonal... I really do much better with smaller groups.

Friday:

- Very little work done at work. I mostly figured out my weekend plans.
- Went to a happy hour organized by a summer associate, and met a couple nice people, one of whom is working on the same project I am, but is getting slammed with assignments every day from the associate. He downed three beers at the happy hour and returned to the office. Damn. I felt a momentary twinge of worry/guilt -- am I not doing assignments well? why aren't I getting more work? shouldn't I be working harder? as hard as this guy? -- but the moment passed when I realized that I have absolutely no incentive to work hard, having been reassured on the first day that everyone will get an offer. I decided to go with the incentive structure put in place. When there's no reward for hard work but more hard work, why even?
- I was up late reading an awful book by Michael Crichton in which he basically says global warming doesn't exist. Shut up, Michael Crichton. I was in the mood for a silly medical thriller, and you give me drivel.

Saturday:

- Brunch and church-hopping with Friend. Riverside Church is gorgeous! St. John's looks terrible! And Union Theological Seminary is pretty!
- Attended a gospel choir concert, thanks to an old college classmate, who played in the band. I remembered how much I liked the gospel choir in college, and decided I'd also like to see the old classmate, so I head over to the East Side, to a gospel concert consisting of mostly WASP-y young ladies wearing pastel colors. Huh. Not what I was expecting. But really, what COULD you expect of a Baptist church on the Upper East Side? The proselytizing was kind of intense, and I considered leaving, but saw my old classmate playing in the band, looking all kinds of cute, and decided to stay.

Okay. So here's my question. What constitutes success? I ask because tonight I saw the above-mentioned college classmate, whom I hadn't seen for about seven years. He's been trying to make a living as a bass player in New York since graduation. I'm on his email list for gigs and concerts, and every time I get a message from that listserv, I think, "Damn, that's inspiring. He's still out there, working toward his dream."

He was rushing off to another gig downtown, but had half an hour to eat, so I treated him to pizza, and we caught up. And damn, but the boy's had it hard. Threw his back out last year and was broke enough to qualify for Medicaid. Doesn't talk to his father, who vehemently opposes my classmate's career choice. Lost a girlfriend of 6.5 years because he chose to keep working as a musician.

I was sad after we said goodbye. He's a good guy, through and through. An honest, straightforward man, trying to do something he loves. And he's my classmate. As much as it hurts your ego to learn that the guy who sat next to you in biology won a Tony for his witty, best-selling musical two years ago, you don't really want any of your classmates to be in a position where you feel sorry for them.

I mean, whatever -- I barely talked 30 minutes with the guy, and he's clearly getting some work, and I don't know jack about his successes or the joy he derives from working in music. And as Mr. Rocks pointed out to me on the phone soonafter, "You don't need to worry, hk. The guy's got a degree from an Ivy League school. He can always go to grad school."

But there was genuine delight and gratitude in my classmate's face when he saw I had come to his concert. And a humble acceptance of my offer to treat him to pizza and a drink. He's just a good person, and it makes me sad to think about the difficulties he's had.

So not to get all Carrie Bradshaw on you, but here it is: What is success? Do those of us who "sold out" have a romanticized notion of what it is to follow your heart? You can't eat admiration, after all, or use it for rent. So what's the use of my saying to my classmate, "Your following your dreams is so inspiring to us"? Was that just a clueless kind of condescension? And what does it mean that I walked away feeling a little bit relieved and comforted about the choices I've made?