Monday, July 18, 2005
Some people asked me about the title of my blog. One of these was a particularly short-skirted employee who is a receptionist or maybe in HR ( they are interchangable: in fact, I suspect that every woman in HR is assigned a receptionist's seat in a way such that there is no need to hire a full-time receptionist. )
So here is a credible answer about "Male Whore", though only in retrospect, like the genius of selling stock on Sept 10, 2001.
Like a prostitute who is employed in a brothel, a banker will say:-
1. I won't be in this profession forever
2. This profession is only about greed.
3. Things are very sexist here. Women get groped on a regular basis. Gropability is a job requirement.
4. You will never see a gay man on this floor.
5. I haven't read a book or visited a museum since as long as I can remember. And I fucking don't care. Why did you even ask?
6. Got tips, Broker?
Sunday, July 10, 2005
The Daily Hint
I was informed by a friend (also an almost-VP I know he got a lower bonus last year) that a particular co-worker of large bosoms and bonuses is acting with refreshingly emotionally independent behavior.
She pretends not to recognize him after spending every last night in his NoHo apartment applying Nutella (he mentioned an Italian product which is effectively Nutella) in the unpredictable body parts.
And he, evidently considers this neglect as a charmingly sexy act of professional caution.
When I told him she is as detached from him as he is to her, he shouted "fast trades!" which is the trader equivalent of a girl rolling her eyes.
She is the ideal date, and the fool does not know it. He is beginning to fall in love with her because he has believed what I said.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Why do some people stare for a few seconds longer than normal when they wish to show displeasure?
Maybe they are mute butlers trapped in the over-cared for bodies of bankers.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
A senior associate- which means, he's junior to me- has a house and a wife in Westchester. Or Short Hills. When he complained about the deer, I thought he was mentioning another fancy place downtown which I would have to pretend to know. But the deer he whined about was in his front yard, eating herbs his wife had planted.
This is the sort of competetive conversation which makes me avoid society.
We have two tall white doormen where I live. Maybe I should complain loudly about them sometime.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
My eyebrows join somewhat.
I am too old to feel a sense of kinship to metrosexuals so I can't pay someone in Chelsea to perform a cleaning service. I am afraid I would get spotted by an intern.
I feel awkward buying tweezers and fear the tell-tale sores.
I can't go on this way.
Monday, May 16, 2005
What do they mean when they say it "everything will be taken care of?" They are referring to tasks such as laundry. Why the passive voice?
Does an active voice make the organization sound uncomfortably materal- or gay? And what about "Please find enclosed?"
I advocate that the redundant language be illegalized because a McKinsey study shows that the collective waste of corporate time due to composing and reading redundant phrases is approximately $60 million each year. Forrester says that the phenomenon is growing at a rate of 12.4% a year.
This is all stressful stuff. Especially because those quotes were false, and you probably believed me.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
I indulge my ethnic food fantasies in private. Others don't. The trading floor is often full of exotic smells and it is impossible to complain or focus on my screen. This is typically the time I choose to blog (I find this verb particularly sketchy.) This may account in part for the tone of my journal (I find this noun effeminate. The English vocabulary is severely limited.)
In any case, more food has arrived. One exotic smell has negated another. Wait-this one's for me.