Confessions of a Sheltered Mind

2003-09-23T23:58:00.000-04:00

Recap: Wednesday, August 27, 2003

Happy Birthday To Me, Now Let's Sleep In A Tree

Yikes! I turned 29 today! How did THAT happen? Wasn't I just 25 like...four years ago? I have to say, there's some real pros and cons to having a birthday at the end of the summer. The weather is usually great. Well, there are the pros. But the cons are, unfortunately, best summed up in one phrase: there is no one, I mean NO ONE, around on August 27th. Think about it. Where are you, usually, on August 27th? It's right before Labor Day, so everyone is away somewhere. I mean, it's my own birthday, and I'M usually away. And, of course, this year is no exception...

Today was Day One of the Infamous Learning Team Retreat. That's right. 800 Wharton students (well, 400 at least. The other 400 left yesterday and are coming back today) crammed into buses at 5:45 AM and headed off to the Catskills for two days of bonding with..drumroll...our learning team. The four or five other students who will be sharing academic quarters with you for the next nine months. I guess the philosophy is that if all five or six of you emerge from the woods alive, you'll be able to handle just about anything else that Wharton can throw your way.

I can't help it. I'm an individualist. In short, I didn't take the bus. I'm heading down to NYC for our last night in our apartment tomorrow night, and it just didn't make sense to take a bus home from the Catskills (about an hour away from NYC) on a 4 hour bus ride back to Philadelphia, to then get in a car and drive two hours to NYC. So, I drove. It was a great drive too. Have you ever driven on those highways that are just trees all around you, and it's one of those two lane deals whre you have to cross over the dotted yellow median to pass the slowpokes that only drive 5 mph over the spped limit? I love those roads. This trip was one giant one of those roads. It definitely wakes you up in the a.m.!

So I get to the camp. Now, they made it sound like we would be really roughing it. Hey, I've been to sleepaway camp. I was ready. This was defnitiely not the low end of sleepaways. The wood in the cabins looked new. The toilets worked. The sinks werea ll brushed stainless steel and had large, uncracked mirrors. It looks more like a Home Depot showroom than what I remember a sleep-away cabin was supposed to look like. Each member of my cohort (the illustrious Cohort J) had to wear the same dark green T-shirt with a giant J on the corner. I guess we could have had it worse. Cohort H had to wear safety orange. I kid you not. Of course, the T-shirts were specifically given out so that the largest cohort members got the smallest shirts, and vice versa.

After some brief introductions (wherein Anjani Jain, the dean of the MBA program, informed us by a quite fortuitous slip of the tounge that Wharton would be a great place to expand our SEXUAL (um, social) network. After he let that one go, we were pretty much laughing too loud to listen to anything else so we were sent to finally meet our learning team members.

[A brief note -- In the interest of privacy of my colleagues, I will not mention my Cohort or learning team members by name unless they do something really, really funny. Sorry Dave.]

Each learning team is required to have a minimum of one woman, one international and one 'alternative' career type (this is anyone who was not a banker or consultant before coming to Wharton. Trust me, we're the minority.) Well, we have the most Wonderbread learning team that I've ever seen. Our international member is from Canada. I, the corporate lawyer who spent 2 1/2 years representing investment banks, was the alternative career guy. What diversity! I'm so glad I took that seminar yesterday, or I don't know if I'd be able to handle it....

OK, we played lots of team building games, like building water balloon catapults (that quickly devolved into a water balloon war --- objectives accomplished), canoe races, and other stuff of the ilk. It's nice to get away from the classroom, and all in all I think the learning team retreat is a pretty good idea. More tomorrow.

2003-09-23T23:48:00.000-04:00

Recap: Tuesday, August 26, 2003

You're Different Than Me In So Many Ways -- Let's Celebrate!

OK. I consider myself to be a regular proponent of diversity. I mean, I love diversity. I enjoy meeting people from other cultures, other countries, people who are, in general, different form me. I mean, how many caucasian Jewish German-ancestry types can you know before, you know, you need to join a commune or something. A really uptight, guilt-ridden commune.

So I went, in good faith, to our diversity training session. I have to admit I had my doubts. After all, how many people are actually going to admit that no, I don't happen to like you because you're, you know, you're just....weird. Not many. And certainly not many at a diversity training session. But things got a lot better when we were identifying groups that were often the subject of discrimination and someone said "nerds". Maybe this was my kind of crowd after all.

But 4 hours is too long to sit for...well... just about anything short of a transatlantic flight, and at least you usually get free booze on those. I lost interest after about 90 minutes. I mean, we're so ridiculously diverse at Wharton. Something like 40% of the students came from outside the US to go to school here. We're also all adults, most of us in the working world for 6 years or more. If we still can't get past basic social sterotypes, I don't think there's much hope that a 4-hour seminar is going to make us the light. Come on now, we've all been through this before. We are the most socially sensitized generation in the history of humankind. I even had trouble typing "caucasian Jewish German ancestry" in the first paragrpah of this entry, and that's me! Never mind the uptight joke...I agonized and felt guilty about that one for hours... then I felt guilty about being so sterotypical....oy...here I go again....

2003-09-23T13:20:00.000-04:00

Recap: Monday, August 25, 2003

Six People Failed -- You Might Too!

Final day of Pre-Term classes! Final week of living without furniture! Life is exciting! I attended my last pre-term Statistics class today, wondering if I actually know anything more than I did before the first pre-term Statistics class. Well, soon I'll be going through the trial by fire that is the real deal -- Statistics 621 --> Business Analysis Using Regression. Speaking of regression, I felt a pang of sadness as I had to turn in the combination for my tiny grade school sized locker today. I understand that in three weeks or so, I'll have the opportunity to join a lottery for another one.

Academic Overview today. In a nutshell, don't mess around with the auction system. It counts now, and you don't want to get burned. (Because I do not qualify to waive out of ANYTHING, I'm not taking any electives now so i can safely ignore the auction until next semester.)

We learned something very important in MAGIC today. First-Degree Price Discimination. Very important. FDPD is basically a theoretical construct by which we charge each customer the exact highest amount that they are individually willing to pay. Why is this important? It is the ultimate goal of all of economics -- screwing the customer to the highest degree possible. The goal standard of screwdom, as it were, is FDPD.

Finally, Convocation! (Why is Convocation one month after classes start?) Convocation was quite an experience, and particularly memorable for two reasons. First, we were all wearing suits and there was a guy in shorts under his robe on the stage(!), and second, the Dean of the MBA Program, Anjani Jain, told us flat out that 6 students were kicked out last year for unsatisfactory academic performance. I keep reminding myself that this is less than 1% of the student body, but it's hard...

2003-09-23T13:09:00.000-04:00

Recap: Friday, August 22, 2003

Please Meet Your Doctor, Your Doctor, Your Doctor, Your....

Went for our next appointment with our...doctors. I think I mentioned this before, but there's no harm in mentioning it again. Pennsylvania is a weird state. It's got strange names for everything (subs are hoagies, Route 476 is the Blue Route, the Blue Line is the 'El' (even though it is not elevated...)), it;s got the strangest liquor laws in the country, and it has a really big problem with medical malpractice cases. Pennsylvania juries have obviously taken the position of "well, it's not our money -- so, how much?" when delivering giant multi-million dollar verdicts to plaintiffs in medical malpractice cases. As a result, the insurance for doctors in Pennsylvania is among the highest in the nation. This greatly affects practices such as OB/GYN, which have high insurance rates already. As a result, young doctors cannot afford to practice. At all. In order for them to work and paid off their medical school loans, they need to group together with older, more established (read: richer) doctors. This resulted in finding not a doctor, but a community of doctors when we moved here. Any of the doctors could be the lucky one to deliver our child. Of course, this means we need to continuously schedule appointments with different doctors every time we go. Well, it won't be much longer now...

I ran out of my trading simulation today to get in the car to race to Syracuse, NY to go to my brother's engagement party. I managed to make it in 4 1/2 hours. Considering the traffic, this was an epic feat and a true indication that I am finally getting used to driving again. Now, can I get home on Sunday in the dark....?

2003-09-15T16:59:00.000-04:00

Recap: Thursday, August 21, 2003

Cost Analysis: $90 Million in Technology Or A Good $50 Set Of Speakers

Very quiet day today. Magic in the morning, little to talk about there (well, that's not exactly true, but I won't bore you not Econ types), and a big fat break in the afternoon from 12 noon to 5 pm. This was the first itme I've had in a long time to catch up on my life pursuits. You know, things like...laundry.

In the evening, however, it was back to school to watch a DVD screening of the Wharton Follies show from last year. For those who don't know, Wharon Follies is the musical comedy production that Wharton puts on every year to poke fun at itself -- and everyone else. It's a lot of fun (most B-schools have them, and even BC Law had something very similar), and its usually a showcase for the artistic talents of your classmates. Of course, screening a DVD is not always a showcase for the technical talents of your classmates, as it took about 30 minutes or so to figure out how to turn on the sound in one of the most high-tech classrooms in the country. Ah, technology. But the show was fun, and it looks like a hoot to do. We'll see whether this is something I consider, however....

2003-09-15T16:52:00.000-04:00

No, we haven't had the baby yet. Just a bunch of things getting in the way of blogging. Let's try to get you caught up.

Recap: Wednesday, August 20, 2003

High Culture vs. Low Culture -- The Winner Is Obvious

I am totally lost in Statistics! It's like a foreign language to me. (Actually, it's a lot more like a foreign language class than a math class -- but I'll get to that another day.)

OK -- this whole trading simulation thing (read Monday's blog) is a little more complicated once everyone is over the learning curve. Last Monday I was kicking the class' butt, but it seems that people have figured out the system, because I'm not nearly as proficient as I was at it today! First of all, on more than one occassion the trading market was dead solid wrong. It just assumed the wrong price! I mean, I've never heard of a market selling a stock for an unreasonable price, have you? No? I didn't think so.

After classes today we had a social event at the Philadelphia Museum. This is fun, but I didn't stay long because I had...a poker game. That's right, I'm plugged into the real haven for the competitive B-school spirit... I will not dilvulge any information about my fellow players or their playing habits, as I am sure that there are plenty of interested sharks out there that would just love to know that Dave always telegraphs a bluff by...um...never mind.

2003-09-04T15:44:00.000-04:00

Recap: Tuesday, August 19, 2003

Come Save The Business World...One Country At A Time

Got to Magic (that's MAnaGerIal eConomics, for those not in the know -- shame on you) on time today. I think it was the first time, but I can't remember enough Magic classes to know for sure. I learned something new today, indifference is a vital part of modern economics. That's right, deep down I knew that my laziness was actually fueling the economic engine of this great nation....what? Not that kind of indifference? Oh...never mind.

After class, about 300 packed into a room that seated 70 to hear about the Global Consulting Practicum, an opportunity for Wharton students to consult for an international company looking to involve themselves in a large-scale project or business development. This year, the projects are in India, South America, and Israel. Well, not exactly Israel see, because Wharton has decided that Israel isn't really safe, so they're sending the consultants for the Israeli projects to....Turkey? Or Cyprus? Ah...I suppose that safety is relative and really in the eye of the beholder...

Later in the evening, the best and brightest that this nation has to offer got together to.....perform stand-up comedy. The Wharton Comedy show was actually a blast, and some of my classmates are actually quite talented. Even the famous Alex Brown got on stage to do a few bits, showing off that he's not all business when it comes to Wharton admissions. My favorite line of his was when he described how he and Rose Martinelli, the admissions director, really work together. "I'd just like to apologize in advance for the five or six total idiots that you meet in your class. Rose let them in."

2003-08-31T08:40:00.000-04:00

Recap: Monday, August 18, 2003

Capitalization of the Errors of Others = Get Rich Quick

I roused myself at 6:30 am again to get up early to go to a new class that started today, Classics of East Asia. While the professor seemed nice enough, I knew about 30 minutes into the class that this wasn't an 8 am kind of thing. I figure that I probably won't be heading to the remainder of the classes, as they are all at 8 am, and I'm...ok with that. I've got enough to do.

Statistics today was pretty much about how your sampling method can totally screw up the randomness of your sample. My favorite example? If you need to catch goats for an sampling study and you go out to the fields to catch them, you will likely end up with the slowest goats.

The afternoon was made up of two electives. The first, which is part of a three-part series, was a trading simulation. This was a pretty cool thing. Basically, in a nutshell, you are given a stock (call it Wharton) that pays out a dividend based upon how well it does during a given year (for simplification, the stock has three potential outcomes -- bad, OK, and good.) How much it pays out in the second year is based on how wll it did inthe first year as well as the second year, so if in the first year it would pay out 0, 50 or 100, in the second year it might again pay out 0, 50 or 100, if it was "ok" in the first year. However, if it was "good" in the first year it might pay out 50, 100 or 150, and if it was "bad" in the first year it might pay out 0, 25 or 50. Thus, it is hard to price the stock before the first 'year' is up. Each person is given two pieces of true information in the form of "the stock will not be X in the Y year." So, you might find out that the stock will not be OK in the first year, and will not be bad in the second year. You don't know which of the other two options will take place, but you are aware that some people in the class do. Each of you is in front of a computer, and begins trading the stock in a 300 second "year". To trade the stock, you may put in buy or sell orders at the prevailing market price, or may be a "market maker" by recording a bid or ask for an amount of stock at a desired price. Ostensibly, the theory goes that the market, given that all of the useful information is out there somewhere, will eventually find its way to the correct market price. However, I found that I was most successful when I was preying off other classmates' uncertainty about the game process. When the market price had a choice between 50 and 100, for example, and the price had trended to about 60, I figured that the price had to be 50, so I began selling at 60. Even when the price dropped below 60, however, there were still people who weren't looking at their screens very carefully buying at 60. So I continued to sell at 60. In this manner, I did pretty well in comparison to the class. I had a great time with this stuff, and they turned it into a bit of a competition, giving out Cross pens and t-shirts and the like to the top scorers. Go competitive spirit!

The final elective of the day was Intermediate Excel. I figured that Excel and I had to become friends one of these days, and it seemed logical that I ought to get to know it a little better. The professor was, shall we say, a little too enthused to be teaching a spreadsheet program for the fourth time in a row that day (I guess he would have to be), but I did learn how to make those pivot tables that my wife does so well but that I can never get to work. More Excel instruction is going to be needed, however, to get through this first year. Well, as they say in law, learn to love it, 'cause it ain't goin' nowhere!

2003-08-31T02:42:00.000-04:00

Recap: Sunday, August 17, 2003

The Changing Table Racketteers

Baby furniture, I am sorry, is crap. You heard me. Utter, undeniable crap. Marilyn and I went to Delaware this afternoon (a 25-minute drive and you're in a tax-free wonderland) to look at baby furniture. The trip to Babies 'R Us was, to say the least. less than phenomenal. It was, however, an enlightening experience. I learned that, in exchange for some shoddy baby furniture that looks like it was glued together, I could enlighten my wallet by a grand or more. I have decided that baby furniture, much like hotel rooms in Italy, is one of those specialized goods that seems to escape the common economic model of "you get what you pay for". After spending a solid couple of hours staring at this fine example of sweatshop labor foreign craftsmanship, we decided that we would be willing to spend some extra dollars to find a place with more solid furniture.

Thus ends another week of the Wharton experience. Tune in for more...

2003-08-31T01:54:00.000-04:00

Recap: Saturday, August 16, 2003

Surburban Nightlife

We spent the evening at a party at a firend of mine who lives around the block. It is so funny how one's social life changes as one goes through different stages of life. My Saturday night social calendar looked somethinglike this:

Single -- Swing Dancing Until 4:00 am.
Single and Dating -- Dates every weekend until 1:00 am or so.
Engaged -- Dinner and Dancing until midnight or so.
Married -- Movie or Quiet Evening Out until 11:00 or so, sometimes dinner.

I imagine the next stage, 'with child' results in Evenings At Home -- Asleep by 10:00 (not including regular awakenings every 3 hours), but I have no empirical evidence as to this as of right now. But spending an evening 'out', even if Marilyn got tired and had to be home by 11:00, was still nice, considering that suburban nightlife is somewhat 'limited'.

2003-08-31T01:49:00.000-04:00

Recap: Friday, August 15, 2003

The Cure For Packratting

I got the call in the middle of Statistics class. "Hi honey. I'm on a train headed for Philadelphia. Come pick me up at the station in...say...20 minutes." At that point I was glad that she was getting out of the black hole that had once been New York, even if it meant a quick and not entirely unnoticed exit from Stat 603. I turned out that being eight months pregnant does, on occasion, have its advantages. When the ticket operator at Penn Station caught a glimpse of my wife trying to figure out which trains were heading to Philadelphia and when, she discreetly told her "There's an Acela Express downstairs that's leaving in 2 minutes. They're not really checking tickets right now, so why don't you head on down there and try to catch it?" Before she knw it, Marilyn was headed out of the darkness and into the light.

So, one returned wife and two missed classes later, I managed to get back to school to make my Economics class. After learning a bit about pricing stategies, I headed over to the big auditorium for a seminar on Alumni networking....which was packed. And I mean packed. This is the largest room in the entire school, and every seat and nearly every inch of floorspace was taken. Once again, I was defeated by the infamous 'career' seminar rule, stating that any seminar that is relating to helping one find a job is bound to be oversubscribed by at least 200%. So, instead of learning how every Wharton grad out there has a job availability in hand and is just dying to hear from every one of us, I waited for my wife to join me at the first Wharton event that she has attended since Welcome Weekend -- the Graduate Division Barbeque. I finally had the opportunity the show off my wife and show that I wasn't making her up just to get attention. This event, like all events at Wharton, had corporate sponsorship, this time by Booz Allen & Hamilton. Of course, every corporate sponsored event has goodies attached to it, and this time Booz Allen had provided us with big red foam beer cozies. Marilyn saw me eyeing the cozies for one second and said "Don't even think about it." You see, we had spent the first few months of our marriage picking through and throwing away every useless trinket that I had accumulated over the years and never used. Marriage, it turns out, is the ultimate cure for packratting. And even though those beer cozies looked cool, she was -- of course -- right (how does that always seem to happen?) in that I woudl likely never look at the thing again after I had brought it home. Sigh.

2003-08-21T13:02:00.000-04:00

Recap: Thursday, August 14, 2003

How Many New Yorkers Does It Take To Screw In A Light Bulb?

None. Most of the city looks better in the dark.

This, of course, is not true. But my wife learned it first hand today when the biggest blackout in history hit a big chunk o' the US and Canada. What caused it? We're not sure. Originally, the news reports were that the original power failure came from the Niagara-Mohawk power plant in upstate New York. This is the plant that services Syracuse, and I could only think "Wow. Finally Syracuse has contributed something to our nation's history other than the dentist's chair. (Though it appears to be just as painful.) We're working on getting my 32-week pregnant wife (who climbed down 9 flights of stairs in the dark, walked almost a mile to get home in the heat, and then climbed UP 17 flights of stairs, in the dark, without air conditioning in order to get home today. She's a trooper (she's also a little nutty -- otherwise she would never have married me.)

Today was a pretty ordinary day on the classes front. A full load kept me in school straight from 8 until 5, including a one hour lunch-seminar on networking (can you guess whether this one was crowded or not?). When i got home, i heard about the blackout, so I figured I would wait until the power came back on before I headed out for the evening. Well, it never went back on, so I ended up staying home. I did manage to clean up the apartment a little but, so all was not lost, at least. Of course, now we need to figure out how to get Marilyn over here without using trains, planes or traffic lights. I'm thinking about investing in a horse and buggy, and I'm sure for those people stuck in New York right now it's beginning to feel like the late 1800s.... let's just hope that they don't start instituting child labor and opening up sweatshops in the meat packing district... (not counting sweatshops that managed to survive history, like law firms.)

Oh...one more thing. I passed the math test! I did pretty well, actually. Go partial credit! There's nothing like putting something down on paper that happens to be true but doesn't happen to be the correct answer and still get credit for knowing this only slightly useful fact! I love school!

2003-08-21T12:48:00.000-04:00

Recap: Wednesday, August 13, 2003

I'm Supposed To Be A What When I Grow Up???

So last night I actually took a career self-assessment test. Now, I know that I'm still working on my quantitative skills, but obviously the test thought that I was definitely an 'artsy' type. According to the test, I am (currently) best suited for positions in the fields of:

Advertising Account Management
Public Relations and Communications
Marketing and Marketing Management
Entrepreneurship
Internet Business Development

None of which (except for a general interest in entrepreneurship) have I ever considered before. It makes me wonder what the heck I was doing as a lawyer for the last 4 years. Maybe if law school had given us the opportunity to take these tests way back then....

So, after my second seminar with Gilead Sherr and more enlightening insight on the Israeli/Palestinian negotiation process, I went to another Career seminar (again at bursting seams capacity) to hear from the founders of this particular career test. Basically, he was very impressive in how he manged to focus on the foibles of the job market and the recruitment process (which he characterized in two words -- Mutual Deception). Things like "I always wonder why B-school students are so interested in keeping their options open. You guys out there who are married -- any of you still dating?" He's right, of course. He also characterized my life pretty succinctly: "A lot of unhappy people are workign in their roommates' dream job". It's true. When everyone around me at law school was dying to get on the law review, get a summer associateship at a big top tier firm, and get a full time offer from there, it made me think that it was what I wanted to do. Then I did all those things, and I was pretty unhappy. Better to let your roommate chase after his own dreams instead of you doing it for him.

A new class started today - Business History. This class is like a live A&E Biolgraphy, without commercials during which you could use the bathroom. The professor lectures non-stop (I hardly even saw him breathe) for 2 hours, but he manages to make the history of American Business pretty interesting. I think I'll keep going to this one, especially since I know I'll never be able to take effective notes at his pace of lecturing so I can just sit back and relax.

I learned something useful in the real world oday! I can't believe it! And to think, it only took 3 weeks! (I'm only half-joking. It took about 6 months in law school.) Today, I learned by the absolute, undeniable proof of dice rolling (and I'm convinced that's how the market prices securities anyway), that redistributing your investments on a regular basis can turn losing investments into profit-making winners and totally minimizer any eventual losses. Of course, there's the sticky problem of brokerage fees, but if you mainly trade in mutual funds like me, you could really take advantage of this knowledge.

First night at home in a long while. It feels good to get more than 5 hours of sleep. I think I could get used to this....

2003-08-21T12:28:00.000-04:00

Recap: Tuesday, August 12, 2003

Take Me Out To The Ballgame, So I Can Meet the GM.....

We're starting to settle into a routine now. Classes are no longer a novelty for us old working stiffs. Now, we're expected to actually be LEARNING things. Accounting today, where I learned that a 500-year old Venetian system of debits and credits is the foundation for every accounting method (and every accounting scandal) that we see today. Go Venice! No wonder your archipelago is sinking into the Mediterranean.

Then it was on to another career management seminar. Once again, every seat in the room was filled and even wall space was at capacity. People were actually sitting on the floor between rows. You would think that, especially in today's economic environment, Wharton would realize that putting the word "Career" in front of a seminar might actually pique some interest. This one was about the technological prowess of the career management department, and, to be honest, it is pretty impressive. In a one-stop shopping experience, I can take several career assessment self-tests, become depressed, and schedule counseling to get me through the fact that the career I am most qualified for is Advanced Coffee Gophering. Who says technology is useless?

There is some benefit to going to a well-known school like Wharton, as it attracts some pretty impressive personalities as guest speakers. Today was the first in a three-part series on Negotiating Through Crisis taught by Gilead Sherr, the chief negotiator for the Israeli government during the failed Camp David Summit and the later Taba summit. He was very insightful, down to earth, and, like many negotiators I have met, a realist's realist. I won't go into the political side of the lecture, but needless to say I learned quite a bit about the finer points on the art of real face-to-face negotiation that Getting To Yes doesn't quite cover.

In the evening, a bunch of us (who had intelligently bid a strong number of points in the course auction for the event) headed to Veterans Stadium to see a Phillies game. Well, the game itself wasn't very impressive (The Phillies lost 6-3 against the Brewers), but we were treated to a very nice meal (sponsored, of course, by a company -- in this case Medtronic), and were addressed for about 20 minutes by the general manager for the Phillies, Ed Wade. I was impressed that these book-wormy Wharton students asked very pertinent questions about baseball while still tying it into the business of running the team, and not even one person begged for a job! Times must be improving.

2003-08-18T16:35:00.000-04:00

More recaps....I'm make each one a separate entry this time.

Recap: Monday, August 11, 2003

Chance For Precipitation: F'(x) of Log (1.5)

For those who haven't watched the weather recently, it's been a little wet. And by a little wet, I mean 17 straight days of rain little wet, not that friendly mist little wet that helps you put off washing the car. Not that this is a big deal, but I'm still getting used to driving in this city, and I've needed to get used to driving without a rear-view mirror, because the constant rain and humility has meant that the back window (on which there is no wiper) fogs up incessantly. Well, they say that business school makes you less risk-averse, so maybe this will start bothering me less as time goes on.

Arrgh! Calculus exam! Well, I started another fine trend by arriving at the exam 15 minutes late. The only seats left were at the front of the room, which I guess was a good thing, because I would be first out the fire doors if the class began to spontaneously combust behind me. (This event would have been, by the way, a decent possibility, considering how hard people were pressing with their fancy mechanical pencils on the test books). It wasn't as bad as I pictured it would be, but freaking out about relatively meaningless tests of our limited knowledge is the unique privilege of a student, so I thought I'd take advantage of it as much as I could.

Of course, there's nothing to bring you down from a stressful calculus test as statistics class, so, of course, that's where I headed. Now, officially, there are no "assignments" during this pre-term period before classes start. The only thing that is "required" is the math exam that I just finished. Nonetheless, it seems that the pre-term professors missed the memo, because not only does every class that I'm in have assignments, it has separate required textbooks! Today, on that subject, was a statistics "quiz". Now, by what deity's wisdom that Statistics department decided to put a quiz on the day of the absolute-must-pass-or-die math exam I'm not sure, but at least it imbued the department with the wisdom to make the quiz so easy that an eight-year-old could pass it.

Finally, this evening was the great Post-Math Exam Party, the first real "club" party of the year. Now, I'm pretty sure I've paid many thousands of dollars in tuition. I'm also pretty sure I've paid my $165 dues to the Wharton Graduate Association. I've also paid for Pub, rented a locker (yes! You must RENT your lockers at this bastion of global capitalism -- I think they do that to limit demand for a scarce resource) bought useless bulkpacks and textbooks, and paid for a gym membership that I've yet to have time to use. So why why WHY must a school organization charge a COVER for a party with no open bar, no drink specials and no live band on a MONDAY night?? I almost didn't go out of principle. And one more little rant -- to those who organized the party -- this is an international school. That means, you need to inform those students who don't normal live in the tetotalling USA that they need to bring their IDs with birthdays to a party at a club, even if they look 40. It was just sad to see such nice and naive Italians and Israelis get turned away at the door, when at home they're no doubt served once they can REACH the bar.

2003-08-15T00:41:00.000-04:00

Ok....let's get you caught up.

Recap: Wednesday, August 6, 2003

Relearning How To Slack 101

There are very few things about school that make you really feel like a student quite like missing it. I mean, when you're working, you can't just miss a day of work (that is, unless you can come up with a nice fake cough or something), and even if you do, you're always wondering whether or not you'll find your boss or a coworker on the street or at Banana Republic later that evening and have to do the 'public hack and choke' in the middle of trying on the latest piece of cashmere to suck the life out of your wallet. But here, at school, I can not only miss a class, I can have the gall to go to the professor or his TA and tell him not only that my schedule simply cannot accomodate his class today, but can he please record the class for me! Of course, it helps to have a great excuse like having a 32 week pregnant wife to bring to the doctor, but for all the professor cares I could be water skiing. As for recording the class, at the technologically supersonic (and dialectic) Wharton school, it takes a rocket scientist to turn on the lights in the classroom but recording the class is a matter of pushing a button.

So yes, I missed my calculus review today, but I have a few days to relearn the material that I haven't studied since high school, so I'm not terribly worried. Instead, I took Marilyn to our new doctor in Philadelphia. Well, I should say doctors. In fact, there are upwards of eight potential doctors that might be delivering our child, and its very unlikely we'll have met all of them by the due date. Well, if there's ever a time to meet someone, it's when they're watching a human being emerge from you. At least you don't need to worry about how to make a memorable first impression.

After I drove Marilyn to her future office location, I returned to school in time to meet my cohort for the first time. I am in Cohort J, which I understand has already been determined to be the best cohort at Wharton (as polled by at least 72% of Cohort J). Now, I took some issue regarding this cohort 'orientation'. Here we were, meeting the 60 or so people that we would be sharing nearly all of our first-year classes with for the first time, and we were given no time to actually *meet* each other. The presentation, which took the entire hour, was basically a general orientation that could have been given tot he entire class at one time, and while the infomation was useful, what we really wanted to do was meet and greet. Well, we've waited this long to meet our classmates. I guess a couple more weeks won't hurt.

Rounding out the day was our statistics class, where we were introduced to the JMP program (or 'Jump'), which from what I could gather is basically Excel on statistics steroids. It looks easy enough when the professor was using the program during class, but when I got home I realized that, like many of these techie computer programs, the designers assumed that its users basically are perfect examples of humanity and don't make mistakes, as you're only allowed to "undo" once before that function stops working. Well, maybe I'll be lucky and get a quant jock in my learning team....

Recap: Thursday, August 7, 2003

Operating On Empty: The Fumes Principle

Today was a fast day in the Jewish calendar, which means no food and no water. No nourishment? No problem, I think, foolishly. I will get my sustenance from knowledge! The only problem with this logic is trying to retain all that tasty knowledge when the guy next to you is chowing on a greasy egg and cheese sandwich that he just bought from the Au Bon Pain (emphasis on the Pain) which you can see from your seat. Needless to say I've had one or two better days than today regarding focus. Yet I trudge along, trying to digest (ahh...digest) calculus and derivatives, balance sheets and standard deviations....

Today I learned the most important thing about a balance sheet. It is supposed to balance. That's right. You just heard it from me first. I don't know why I've never thought this before. I guess it has to do with "balancing" my checkbook, which to me was nothing more than making sure all of my checkbook entries were accurate. But no, in accounting a balance sheet actually balances! Amazing! Well, amazing until you learn that when the balance sheet does not balance, you basically but the unbalanced portion into the 'catch-all' of equity. What this basically means is that your balance sheet is basically lots of calculations = lots of but slightly less calculations - whatever's left. Having a "whatever's left" kind of takes the mystique out of the process.

Another very important item that I picked up today I learned in statistics. If your data seems to follow a normal distribution (which I guess means that it has lots of friends and is relatively well-adjusted), you can simply ignore it (which is what most people do to normal well-adjusted things anyway). Isn't school fun?

Recap: Friday, August 8, 2003

The Long Drive to Nowhere

Here we are for our last Calculus class before the big exam. The professor is very adamant that we not panic. After all, why should we panic? Just because Wharton has already put us through self-assessment math tests, 15 hours of calculus review in 5 days, four practice tests and a crude warning that those who cannot pass must continue trying until they succeed or waste away, doesn't mean that we should regard this process as important or anything.

After calculus is the first of what will be many, many seminars on career management. The good news is that 80% of graduates of the Class of 2003 are employed, as were over 95% of the Class of 2004 (for summer positions). The bad news is that they didn't get those jobs by sitting on their ass. It's too bad, actually, I was looking forward to the sitting on my ass part. Well, there's little point to paying all of this money without actually putting in some effort.

The highlight of the day was the seminar entitled "Musings About Mathematical Models and the Music Market", which, despite the alliteration, was less about mathematical models and more about Napster and file-sharing (which our professor was very much in favor of). It was refreshing to hear a academic praise the virtues of what is essentially copyright infringement. He seems like my type of guy!

I learned another valuable lesson today. Do not drive to New York City on a friday unless you've got a lot of time on your hands. I left class at 3:00, went home to pcik up some food and headed out toward NYC at about 3:30. By the time I pulled up to my building, it was 7:45 at night. That's right, it took my 4 hours and 15 minutes to drive from Philadelphia to New York, and at least 1 hour and 15 minutes was spent on the little roadway that connects the expressway to the Lincoln Tunnel. An experience that I will leave to a real commuter, which i'm glad Marilyn is not going to be.

More recaps later!

2003-08-06T01:18:00.000-04:00

Operating At 150% Efficiency -- 36 Hours A Day

It is one a.m. and thsi is literally the first time that I have had an opportunity to write in the blog today. Did the 7:00 a.m. thing again this morning, but i can tell already that the novelty is wearing off fast. Got to campus on time for the THREE AND ONE-HALF HOUR math class. Within an hour, schools of heads were swimming, trying to recollect the miniscule amount of calculus that they remember from those old high school AP classes. Yes, today was the first full day of classes, and when they say full, they mean it. Math from 8:30 to 12:00. Financial aid seminar (no, things haven't changed much -- you're still going to the poor house) from 12 to 1. Accounting from 1 to 3. Statistics from 3 to 5. No joke. I haven't had this full of a school day since elementary school. The classes themselves were interesting, especially when we tore apart Chips Ahoy cookies in Statistics class to figure out creative ways of determining exactly how many chips were showing up in each bag (anyone remember when they used to claim 1,000 chips per bag back inthe 90's?)

My wife came in for her doctor's appointment tomorrow (our new Philly doctor, at is were, located deep in the heart of center city Philadelphia. A bit of a drive from where we live, but it'll be cake to do the drive when Marilyn is delivering, right? No?) so now the place feels a bit more like home. (Of course, I probably feel that way because she's been cleaning up the place, but I prefer to wax raphsodic.)

Tomorrow, I will begin what will undoubtendly become a highly regarded tradition and extremely marketable skill -- skipping class. Marilyn's doctor appointment meets at the same time as my calculus review session, and while my wife is a trooper and has given me permission to skip this one appointment, I know where I would rather be.

2003-08-05T01:35:00.000-04:00

Day One -- Seats In An Upright And Locked Position Please

And so it begins. My Wharton education has finally, officially, FINALLY commenced. Woke up at the bright-eyed bushy-tailed hour of 7:00 am, and was out and ready to start the day at 8:00. Of course, not everyone in Philadelphia was as jumpin' jellyfish ready to blast through the morning rush hour as myself, so I had to sit through what I beleive will quickly become known as "that #%@*# traffic!" to get to school this morning. I arrived at my garage, where I dutifully, and I might add according to instructions, drove all the way up to the top 3 floors to park my car in the 'permit' area rather than in the general public parking area. Of course, on the way up I noticed that a large number of spaces were vacant, and as I was walking down I found that nearly every car in the 'public parking' area had a permit sticker. Serves me right for being conventional.

But why should any of that matter? I was finally HERE. I collected my first PennCard in seven years, got my orientation binder and eagerly trotted into my new life at Wharton. The orientation video, if a little loud, reminded all of us that 1) we are, in fact, the best of the best of the best, and 2) that fact MAY -- maybe -- be enough to get you successfully through the first week of the curriculum.

Now, they have us pretty packed in these first few weeks. With all of the various classes and seminars, there's very little breathing room. Nonetheless, Wharton is kind enough to provide numerous 'optional' activities and lectures as well. Each of which a little more intimidating than the first. After all, who wouldn't want to jump in on a lecture on competitive strategy or the laws of insider trading by the world's leading experts in the field? However, (and I can only speak for the schedule of my 'cluster'), it appears that every single optional lecture, with little exception, conflicts with at least one academic class on our schedule. So now, of course, I'm left with a series of professional dilemmas. Do I go to the statistics lecture that I know I sorely need, or do I attend a seminar on sales patterns and customer behavior in the music industry? Ah, these are the worst problems I hope I have to deal with in the upcoming days....

2003-07-30T12:09:00.000-04:00

We're Here.......

Located and uploaded in Philadelphia! Cable modem access finally came. Of course, after installing my cable modem the Comcast people were nice enough to remove the free HBO/Cinemax that was on the TV when I arrived. I'm so glad. I hate having all those bothersome free premium channels to deal with while watching TV. Sigh. The place here is big. Bigger than I remembered it when we first looked at it. Of course, it could just seem that way to me because I've got no furniture in the place and it's basically bare off-white walls with a folding table, folding chairs and an Aerobed for furniture. Fortunately, at least some of the new furniture will be coming this week. All the stuff in New York doesn't come down until my wife moves in a few weeks, so I'll have to deal with having a relatively spartan apartment until then.

I've gone from being afraid of cars to driving everywhere. No joke. I used to hate driving. For the first three years of our relationship, my wife drove the two of us everywhere. But, moving to the suburbs I knew that this had to change, so I started practicing again. In the last 72 hours I have driven more than I had in the last 10 years. I've got the highway driving thing down pat. City driving...well, I'm just trying to make sure I don't do anything really stupid. There are some advantages to having a car all the time, of course. Yesterday, I drove to Franklin Mills, an outlet store here in Philadelphia, just because I could. Last night, I drove into the city and met some other Whartonites for Quizzo at Roosevelt's Pub, just because I could. Today, I might go over to Costco and open up an account, just because I can....
Of course, the down side to all of this is that while you can use the car to get any place you want to go, when you live in the suburbs you must use the car to get any place that you have to go. And that means learning how to navigate rush hour traffic. I'm sure there will be more blogging about this in the near future.

My last week of work was entirely uneventful. Indeed, I think most people assumed that I was gone already, because people were genuinely surprised to see me when i showed up to say goodbye on my last day. It's always a bit of a letdown when you leave a job, I guess. I think everyone wants to think that they played a vital role in their organization, but the facts usually are that your little cog ain't gonna offset the big wheel.

Classes start in five days. That is just too freaky. What's even more freaky is that after 4 years of non-stop work (with the occasional busy vacation, of course), I've been off for 3 days and I'm already ready to get back into a new project. Whil;e the may be no rest for the weary, there is plenty of rest for the wanting, I guess.

Oooh! The Macy's furniture people are here! Gotta run!

2003-07-21T17:02:00.000-04:00

The Time Has Come, The Walrus Said, To Get Your Butt In Gear

Here we go! One week left of work. I'm not moving "a week from" anything anymore. It's all starting to come together. I've got power, I've got phone lines, I've got cable, who could ask for... ok, I'll stop. My life for the last week of so has been boxes, bubble wrap, and baby movement. On that last point, my wife's "bell has rung" or something like that (I heard that from someone), and she is in full pregnancy mode now. The baby is moving around a *lot*, and when it moves, it really moves! We're talking crazy disco movement here, of which most is visible through my wife's clothing. Marilyn is, of course, on the receiving end of the baby's boxing workout right now, so we try to make the best of things.

These last weeks have all been about seeing friends and family, saying goodbye to Manhattan, and going out. I mean, once the baby comes, we'll be lucky to get out together once a month or so, and thus my wife and I are taking every opportunity we can to get out there and enjoy ourselves without the worry or guilt. Of course, this means we're eating a lot of very rich food all the time....well, at least she's can hide it via the pregnancy. I, on the other hand, has better get the treadmill going when I get to school...

But, now its time to get in gear. School starts two weeks from today, and there's a lot to do before then. Automobile insurance and registration, parking permits and stickers, birthing classes, moving, more immunizations, meeting the baby doctors in Pennsylvania, and, most important of all, of course, another joyride to Atlantic City. I'll keep you informed as things progress.

2003-07-16T12:27:00.000-04:00

Pennsylvania Avenue and the Green Monopoly

Three months to go! That's right, we have officially entered the final trimester of pregnancy. I knew this was coming, if for no other reason that Marilyn has transitioned from being 'comfortably pregnant' to being 'uncomfortably pregnant'. And while she denies it, her eating habits has become a little more....unusual. It's not that she's eating that much more (in fact, I wish she'd eat more than she does). But she does have an unusual habit of getting certain cravings in unusual succession. (Pizza? OK. Hot dogs?? Now? But 30 minutes ago you ate pizz...oh, ok.) At least I usually have the things in the house that she wants to eat. I suppose I should be thankful. Before we were pregnant it took an hour just to figure out what we wanted to eat for dinner. Now I have a constantly changing assortment of foods coming my way.

Packing up the apartment! Boxes, bubble wrap and packing tape are slowly eating away at my sanity. Wedding presents that we haven't quite opened yet, books, tools, computer paraphenalia, dishes, crystal, more books, linens, clothes, more books...when did I accumulate so much junk? I think that my belongings, when they heard that we were reproducing, decided that they would get in on the action too. That's the only explanation. It's not particularly logical, but when you're laying blame, you takes what you gots.

Another thing, when did Pennsylvania eliminate the concept of antitrust? Was I sleeping in when it happened? I though that the utility, phone and cable industries were on their way to beoming de-regulated. I'm trying to set up my new apartment. Electricity? Monopoly. Cable? Monopoly. Phone? Monopoly. Pretty soon, there wil only be one state-owned liquor store to buy from....oh, yeah.

2003-07-11T10:39:00.000-04:00

Rolex, Caviar, Porsche, Air Bubble

We sold our apartment! Well, we're under contract, at least. Now, all that's left is having the buyer get the mortgage, submit a board package, pass the interview, get board approval, schedule a closing date, and tranfer the funds, but all of that seems like child's play compared to getting a buyer who the co-op board won't laugh at.

As a result of that endeavor, it's time to pack. Moving is, I understand, supposed to be one of the most stressful times in your life, right next to having a baby and career change related stresses. Hmmmm.... Of course, everything about moving is designed to make you more stressed. Laundry markers, foam peanuts, taking everything you own and putting it in flimsy cardboard boxes that you know are ready to fall apart if you just think about it too much, moving company estimates (see, your blood pressure is going up just reading about this stuff), and now, as I've just recently learned...bubble wrap. That's right. Plastic and air, people! Those little plastic bubbles you used to pop all the time as a kid? Well you wouldn't be popping them so fast if you knew what these little suckers cost. That's right...the air they pump into those things? It must come leftover from those oxygen bars that were a big hit in the early 90s..and the investors are seriously attempting to recoup their costs. I'm talking premium air here! There is simply no other explanation.

2003-07-08T10:15:00.000-04:00

456 Hours And Counting

So here we are. Some apartment selling, some July 4th weekend activities, some other busy-ness and voila! A week behind on my blog entries. Let's see if I can catch you up to date in the next few blog entries.

Well, I've taken the self-assessment tests that Wharton recommended, and, of course, I have arrived at the preliminary conclusion that a life in abstention of all things mathematical was probably not the way to go if I was eventually planning to go to business school. I mean, I guess the goal is to deflate your confidence early, so you don't walk into classes with too swelled a head. Actually, I jest -- slightly. I didn't do *that* badly. OK,there were some questions on the statistics exam in which I didn't have a clue what any of the terms meant, but I did relatively well on the calculus and economics examinations. Not well enough that I intend to waive any core classes (with the possible exception of the legal class), but well enough that I feel good that I didn't forget everything from Econ 1 in college.

So now we're getting ready for the big move. 456 hours and counting, and I move to Philly. Preparations are in the works. I bought a laptop -- a beautiful IBM T40. I say beautiful rather abstractly, as I don't actually have it yet, but soon....My favorite part about the computer? 3 Year service warranty with spill and accident protection! They obviously know who they are dealing with!

The baby, by the way, is kicking up a storm. It's actually good entertainment watching my wife's stomach move around. We spent the July 4th weekend at my brother-in-law's house, visiting my neices and nephew, ages 7, 3 and 1. So we got some more parenting practice. Once again, I am convinced that we missed some important class in HumEc in high school or something, because it's clear we have little idea what we're doing when it comes to parenting. My father, a child psychologist, once told me that if you want to stop your child from having a tantrum, try getting on the ground and having a tantrum with them, which should distract your child enough to get him/her to forget whatever it was that was upsetting. My wife tried that with our niece, and it totally freaked the poor baby out, causing her to crawl as fast as she could to her mother. Well, at least my father was half right. I think she forgot what was upsetting her long enough to get totally freaked about something else.

2003-06-27T16:24:00.000-04:00

Pregnancy Brain? Try Paternity Brain!

My wife hates it when I mention the 'pregnancy brain'. The 'pregnancy brain' is the brain that my wife has used in the past to hear 'left' when I say 'right' when she asks which way to turn, or the brain that forgets her own cell phone number. However, I'm really in no position to talk. Especially now. Yesterday, my father calls me. He tells me that he received an envelope from America West Airlines with my name on it. Now I'm thinking, why did America West, the airline that we just flew on our vacation, send me a letter to my parents' address? My father usually throws away mail with my name on it, but this time he opened it up. Inside? My driver's license. I had walked around for three days without it and I didn't even realise that it was gone. Of course, the license hasn't been been updated since I was 18 (New York is kind enough to just send me a replacement every five years), so of course it has my parents' address on it....

Thank goodness they were nice enough to send it back, and that my father was curious enough not to throw it away. I can only imagine the nonsense I would have gone through had I realized it was gone....

2003-06-26T16:09:00.000-04:00

I'm So Immunized, I Can't Even Catch A Break

So yesterday I went to the doctor to get myself immunized for everything under the sun. I've been immunized for things I didn't even know existed. It all seems so superfluous, though. I told my doctor the list of immunizations that I needed, and he asked me where in the world I was planning to travel. I told him "West Philadelphia", and he said "Ah...are you sure you're getting enough shots?" So now I'm so full of extraneous holes, I feel like a Florida presidential ballot. But I am immunized from anything those unclean Wharton students and professors can throw my way. Man, I feel like driving recklessly or something.

So my brother just got engaged (hooray!) and we're all getting together at an impromptu party for him and his fiancee this evening. Well, I guess it's not that impromptu, becuase my mother told me last night that the dress was business casual. Business casual? Does that mean I bring my own martini glass? This is the first meeting of the families, and remembering the first time my parents and in-laws met, I recall how nervous Marilyn and I were. So to my brother, I can only say this -- glad it's not me!

2003-06-24T18:58:00.000-04:00

Visiting The Ghosts Of The "Family"....

So our child does not appear to mind flying very much. That's good. In fact, as both of us have colds, during the flight we were probably more mobile than the baby (which, at this point, is actually saying a lot). Vacation, except for the chronic sniffles and coughs, was a lot of fun. We did, in fact, find our way through Vegas and yes, we did win. One interesting little point was when we went to visit, as my wife puts it, our 'familial obligations'. I learned early on in our engagement that in fact, my wife was related by blood to an honest-to-goodness Jewish casino gangster. So, we felt obligated to go to the Flamingo hotel for a couple of hours to invoke the ghost of my great-uncle in law at the blackjack tables. Didn't help. But it's good to know at least that the money went to the family business.

There are things, by the way, that can only happen in Las Vegas. A homeless man offered me shoes. I saw Elvis playing an Elvis slot machine. Very wealthy women wear clothes that make them look like prostitutes. Prostitutes wear clothes that make them look like very wealthy women. The guy hailing cabs for guests at the Venetian is an out-of-work opera singer, and actually sings arias while hailing cabs. All in all, its a nifty town.

2003-06-24T18:40:00.000-04:00

Pay What? The Actual Price?? You Can't Be Serious...

Some bad news while my wife and I were on vacation this past week. We lost a purchaser for our apartment becvause they couldn't get financing. This set me to thinking -- what possesses people to go to open houses, view apartments, make offers for those apartments, and get the hopes up of said apartment's owners if they aren't sure that they can afford the apartment in the first place? I mean, this doesn't happen in other areas of mercantile exchange. I don't go into a store, look at, say, a television set, point at it and say "I'll take it!" without looking at the price. I mean, it's the price, for goodness sakes. It is, I believe, an important part of the retail process. That, and while the offer was still going to contract, we would get calls from other prospective buyers. When we told of them the existing offer (which was a little less than the asking price for the apartment), we would hear "oh, never mind. I could never afford that." Excuse me? "That" was less than the asking price! What did they think, that maybe the price in the newspaper was for the retail industry but we'd sell the apartment to them wholesale? If you can only afford a studio, why are you even looking at full sized one bedrooms? Sigh.

2003-06-17T15:49:00.000-04:00

Reacclamation By Fire

So I got another mailing from Wharton today. This one included the schedule for Pre-Term, the four week period in August that is designed to reacclamate us working stiffs into the rhythm of student life. Now, I know a bit about being a student. I went to college. I went to law school. I've spent more time as a student than most folks. What I don't remember are six to eight hours of lecture per day, mandatory comprehensive math examination on the first week of classes, waiver and placement exams every few days for the next few weeks thereafter, classes at 8:00 or 8:30 am every day, and social events every few nights. OK, I do remember the social events part, but what happened to 'acclamated'? What happened to 'easing in?' I guess if you're ready to learn to be a business leader, you're ready for a full-scale academic assault as part of the process.

I'm going to be away from the blog for a few days, taking a last hurrah vacation with my ever-rounding wife before the 'glorious' second trimester runs out. Why is it that you always seem to catch a cold right before something important, like vacation? Anyway, it'll be fun seeing how the baby takes to air travel. Talk to you in a few!

2003-06-16T18:16:00.000-04:00

525,600 Minutes....

It is our one year anniversary today. I can hardly believe it. We're moving, we're expecting a baby, I'm going to business school...there have been so many things taking place all at one time that I hardly noticed an entire year passing by. Now, you know when you've found the most perfect woman in the world when your first anniversary gift is...GOLF LESSONS!!! My wife is sooooooo cool.

So this past weekend we went to Philadelphia to go to the wedding of college friends. She's from New Jersey and Christian. He's Japanese and not. It was a very interesting ceremony with a non-secterian officiant that was with some organization (i believe it was called Journeys of the Heart) and a Japanese tea ceremony included within. The party was a hoot too, catching up with old friends whom I hadn't seen in years.

Now I'm in the process of trying to get myself set up for school, including getting re-immunized for everything under the sun. Did you know that Wharton requires all of its students to be immunized for chicken pox? CHICKEN POX?? I'm surprised there aren't mandatory flu shots and defensive driving exams. Fortunately, I got the vaccine while I was in college. Next is our apartment. Why is it that when you are looking for a place to live, everyone calls you back so quickly, but once you sign the dotted line, suddenly its as though you don't exist? We're trying to get measurements of the bedrooms in our new apartment to figure out furniture arrangements, since the landlords never bothered to have floorplans drawn up. So I called two weeks before we were scheduled to go down to Philadelphia. The landlord told me that I should call back late during the next week. Just to be sure, I called back early in the next week. Nothing. I had to call the day before we left to hear the landlord saying "Oh, I just came in to the office to call you. No, Sunday just isn't going to work." What a crock. Fortunately with these folks, I keep copies of absolutely everything....

2003-06-10T18:13:00.000-04:00

The Open House Tango

OK! I'm a delinquent. I 'm a lazy bum. Actually, I'm just bored. So little has happened recently that it hardly seemed worth blogging about, well, nothing. However, this past Sunday my wife and I began our first serious effort to get our apartment sold in time for when she moves to meet me in Philadelphia this fall (I'm going out ahead for a month so that she doesn't need to commute -- at 7-8 months into a pregnancy that can get kind of old fast, I'm gathering) and had an open house. Now I always thought the preparations for an open house were funny. There we were, making sure all of our crystal and china were stacked nicely in the display cabinets, and that the bed was made without any creases, etc. After some degree of fidgeting with unrepentant bedspreads, I remarked to my wife, "They know that they don't get any of our stuff when they buy the apartment, right?" I mean, what if the prospective buyers don't have our china pattern? How are they going to envision themselves living here? Anyway, our building is a standard full service doorman building, which under normal circumstances means that someone comes in, says they've come to see us, the doorman calls to let us know that so-and-so is here, we say to let them up, etc. A usual resident-doorman relationship. However, for open houses (and from what I understand, for open houses only), we are required to escort each and every person who comes up to our apartment and back down again -- apparently to make sure that they don't go to the laundry room and start stealing clothes. Now, this made for an interesting experience, as we have hundreds of units in our building, and at least three of them had open houses this past Sunday. Thus, whenever we would go down to pick up people, we would round up anyone who was waiting for the other apartments as well to show them ours. Now, I didn't feel bad about this, because I found out from people that the other apartments were doing the same thing to us! With this subterfuge, we managed to double the number of visitors during our open house. Who said the real estate market wasn't fun?

2003-06-05T11:41:00.000-04:00

Little White Pregnancy Lies

So we went to the doctor for another monthly checkup and sonogram. It was cool seeing the baby again, though I could have sworn it was sticking its tongue out at me. I get no respect, even from those in utero. When I mentioned the whole rocking movie experience to the doctor, she replied "Oh, the baby is most likely just responding to your reactions to the movie. It can't really hear the movie at this stage." What?? I have assurances -- assurances mind you -- from the baby bible What To Expect When You're Expecting that our child should be able to hear every noise louder than a pin drop within range of my wife! Are you telling me that the book is telling us this stuff just so that we don't feel like idiots talking to my wife's stomach? According to our doctor, later on in the pregnancy the baby is able to make out more sound tones, but if we have trouble hearing things underwater, why should we expect a fetus that is only beginning to develop its hearing system to hear any better while hanging out in amniotic fluid? I guess it all makes sense when you think about it, but my naivete has been shaken to the core.

2003-06-02T12:30:00.000-04:00

Cinematic Turbulence

My wife and I have recently been trying to go to as many movies as posible, knowing that it won't be long before such things become very difficult, if not impossible. Although, one can't be too sure, becuase our child seems to like (or hate) movies a lot, seeing as it takes every opportunity when we go to the movies to bounce around as much as it can. A couple of weeks ago, juist when we were beginning to feel the baby move around a bit, we went to see X-Men 2. Now, my wife hadn't seen the first X-Men, so I was like a kid reading comic books again, saying things like "That's Storm. She can make crazy things happen with the weather..." while my wife stared at me thinking things like "How am I going to take care of two children all by myself?" [Ed. - If you understand this to be another clever self-deprecation, do not read further. To all others -- we are pregnant with our first child. Thank you.] Finally, about 100 minutes into the movie, she started getting into the plot. Unfortunately, it was at that time, right before the big blockbuster ending scenes, that the projector suddenly failed. Now, everyone in the whole theater knew immediately what had happened, including the movie technicians, but while they were trying to figure out the problem, they kept the SOUND ON. Suddenly, everyone was screaming, intent on not finding out the ending to the movie before actually seeing it. However, the technicians did nothing. The sound went merrily along for about 5 minutes, and we heard some things that we really hoped we wouldn't, when they finally shut the whole thing down. Then one guy announced that they would not be able to fix the picture, and that they would give each person who presented a stub a SINGLE re-entry ticket. This, of course, almost caused a near riot. We had seen 4/5ths of the movie, and they want us to come back and watch the whole thing again? Not to mention the fact that they took our money and didn't deliver on the product. We stormed over to the front desk in a giant throng, and cajoled the cashiers into giving us our money back. We figure we'll see another movie at some point and time it so we can jump in and watch the last 30 minutes of X-Men 2 afterwards.

Saturday night we went to see the Matrix Reloaded. I was kind of disappointed with the movie myself, but our child was definitely interested in whatever was going on out there, because my wife thought it was going to jump right out right there in the theater. Now, the theater was very loud, so my wife figured maybe this was bugging the kid. I volunteered "maybe it can't get a good view of the pic through your belly-button." Once again, I have to learn quickly that pregnant women don't always get quite as amused as their unpregnant counterparts.

2003-05-29T15:26:00.000-04:00

Math? What? Business School Uses Math??

As part of the Pre-Term requirements at Wharton, on August 11 I need to pass a math exam. This exam apparently tests your skills in various areas of mathematical acumen, including integral and differential calculus. I, for one, have not taken a math class since I graduated high school, which was 11 years ago. I have never used anything more advanced than simple algebra since. So, it is with absolute and abject fear that I have reluctantly begun working on my math skills. My wife loves to make fun of me, watching me work on math problems late at night at home and learning about matrix algebra and differentiation, but frankly, I do not believe that I have any real choice in the matter. I will not be one of those people to whom the Wharton administration says: "We'd love to keep you son, but you jus' don't count too durn good!" And even when I beg, cry, and offer to correct their obvious grammar mistakes, they look sadly at me and mutter "Durn good-fur-nothin' lawyers...." So instead of suffering this greater humiliation, I am swallowing my pride and suffering the lesser humiliation of learning about math. Wish me luck!

2003-05-28T13:00:00.000-04:00

I'm With The Class Of 2005, I Promise!

More tales from the twilight zone of deferree-land. If any of you future b-students out there are considering deferring your admission for one year, take my advice and REMAIN VIGILANT. So, as I has remarked some weeks ago, apparently I'm so rich (we government workers really rake in the dough, let me tell you) that, according to FAFSA, my estimated contribution to my business school education is almost the full educational budget. I say almost, because the two figures differ by a small but significant five digit number. Further, according to Stafford loan guidelines, if your contribution is less than your budget, that difference should be available to you in interest-subsidized loans (up to $8,500). Of course, upon receiving my student aid report from the loan guarantor, I was flatly informed that I did not qualify for any subsidized loans, and would be required to finance my education with unsubsidized loans only. Concerned about this apparent diversion from the official policy, I called the Wharton financial aid office to find out why I did not qualify for subsidized loans for the difference between my expected contribution and the student budget. After some searching, I was informed that the reason why I did not qualify was because the university computer had me recorded as a SECOND YEAR STUDENT. Apparently, the main university never got the word that I had deferred, so my budget was that of a second year student (less than that of a first year), eliminating the difference and denying me the subsidized loans to which I was entitled. They promised to fix the mistake, but I can only imagine what is in store for me when I arrive on campus. Imagine this from the registrar: "Dear Michael, it appears that as of May of 2004, you have only half the number of credits required for your graudation in May. Based on this lack of attendance we cannot grant you a degree." or "Dear Michael, your tuition bill from the 2002-2003 academic year remains entirely unpaid. You will need to resolve this imbalance (with penalty fees) before you can register for classes in the fall of 2003." Ugh.

2003-05-27T00:00:00.000-04:00

Deer, Highway Signs And Other Idiocies

We're back from a whirlwind 36 hour visit to the old hometown (and Ithaca) for my sister's graduation. No, it did not rain, so we did get to sit in the sun and listen to what amounted to an entire rehashing of the Cornell president's 9-11 speech from last year's graduation, plus a few reminders that this year's graduates are graduating into one of the worst job markets in recent history. Thanks, like they really needed another downer on their graduation day. But just because we didn't face inclement weather does not mean that the usual fits of fortune did not weave their way into our short journey. We left on Saturday night to avoid the traffic, but obviously this didn't include the increased animal traffic that seems to find its way around Route 81 during the holidays, as we passed several examples of former wildlife on the way up north. It was about 1:30 am and we were about 20 miles outside of Syracuse (driving around 85 miles an hour) when we suddenly saw a very large deer stop in front of our headlights and stare at our oncoming car like a...well, you know.... Now, I get shaken up by the prospect of parallel parking, and my reflexes were certainly not speedy enough to register such a large animal in the path of our car, but fortunately for me, my wife, our unborn child, our passengers, the deer, and this story, I was not driving at the time. My wife, with nerves of steel and instincts to match, deftly swerved around the animal, leaving it to ponder its mortality and the safety of forest dwelling for at least a few more hours.

The graduation was as nice as graduations can be. Of course, anyone who has been to any of these knows that once you see your sibling/child/relative in the vast and unending parade of similarly dressed thralls and he/she sees you and you do the wave thing, pretty much the thrilling part of the day is over. My sister did indeed graduate, and Cornell did not make its graduates wait several weeks for their diplomas (as both Penn and Boston College had done for me). The trip back was relatively uneventful, except for a little fiasco over road signs. Now, if you saw a sign that said "Last exit in the free world -- ocean for next 8000 miles", and you weren't driving a sea-worthy vessel, you'd pretty likely take that exit. What I want to know is, why can't the highway commission put the same gravamen into their road signage? I mean, if they make the effort to tack up a large, hanging road sign that says "Last exit in New Jersey", and you really do want to go to New Jersey and not to New York City, why can't you be secure in taking this exit and not be afraid that you'll end up in Switzerland? If they meant to say "Last exit in New Jersey -- unless you really care -- and if so there are two more in New Jersey that are much closer to where you're going", why didn't they just say so?

2003-05-23T17:19:00.000-04:00

High Above Cayuga's Waters -- There's An Awful Smell...

My sister is graduating from Cornell this weekend, and while we're all very excited for and proud of her (especially because she is graduating with gainful employment), I have to say I'm pretty miffed that Cornell, in its infinite Ivy League wisdom, decided to set graduation on the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend. What, none of the families of those fine Cornell graudates had any plans over the long weekend? Anyway, if that wasn't all -- the current schule is for rain and sub-60 degree weather. Now, if it really rains (and it can really rain in Ithaca), the graduation will not, as I understand it, be held outside. Instead, it will be held in one building or another, and each graduate will be permitted to give out ONE ticket to ONE family member to be present at graduation. That's right. One. For those of you graduates with two parents, tough. But have no fear, says Cornell, we are also providing an alternate location where the entire graduation will be shown on closed-circuit projection television. Each graduate is, once again, permitted to give out ONE ticket to ONE family member to be at this 'almost there, but not quite' screening. For everyone else, you get to stand out in the freezing rain and wait for graduation to be over. Personally, I can't wait.

2003-05-21T17:48:00.001-04:00

DoublePlusGood DoublePost

Apparently, there are blog fans on the Wharton Admissions Committee. I have been asked to begin submitting Wharton related posts to the Wharton Diary Interface, for perusal and review by potential applicants, potential admittees, current and incoming students, and alumni alike. I have already posted all relevant Wharton entries into the new system and will continue to do so henceforth. The interface program is cool, and, much like a certain Orwellian novel to which I reference in the headline, I have total control over the past. That's right, I can change dates, information, events, etc. at the touch of a button. I can make a diary entry written today seem like it was written a month ago, and thus accurately predict whatever came after it. "Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past."

Little on the Wharton front recently as we're all trying to wind down our current jobs and get ready for the transition into school mode. Last week the NYC admits got together for another happy hour, this time at Opal. Most of the conversations centered around apartments and giving notice. By now, almost everyone knows almost everyone in our group, and it's great knowing that we'll have a built-in contact base when we arrive. While I left the party at midnight, from what I understand the core group migrated over to the karaoke machines and some very useful blackmail material was developed. Apparently, a group of ne'er-do-wells even managed to head out for an early breakfast at 3 a.m.! Ah, to be young, free and...inebriated.

PS - My diary interface should be up by sometime tomorrow if any of you want to take a look. Just follow the link.

2003-05-19T09:20:00.000-04:00

Sleeping Like A Grownup, Sleeping Broke

We are making the preparations to move to the suburbs of Philadelphia, and part of that preparation is coming to the inevitable realization that we need more furniture. Indeed, right now our apartment is basically comprised of all of the furniture that my wife and I owned before we got married. In other words, lots of student shlock and middle end electronics. So, the time came to bite the bullet and head on out to the Macy's furniture outlet and actually start looking for real furniture. Several very stressful hours later, we are the proud owners of a king-sized bedroom set and a real entertainment center. We also bought all of our bedding, bed linens and pillows. It was, without exaggeration, the most money that I have ever spent on a single day in my entire life. By the end of the day, I had a serious headache. All in all, my wife is very excited. On the other hand, I'm a little ambivalent over the whole new furniture thing. I tried my best to be helpful and I didn't complain too much -- and the stuff we bought were excellent deals -- but I just don't understand bedroom sets in general. After all, practically no one ever sees them, and when you see them, you're practically unconscious. Perhaps the key is to dream a lot about your beautiful bedroom set. Of course, I could always dream about a beautiful bedroom set while I was sleeping on a normal one, but that's just me. Maybe my wife isn't as talented in this area. Well, at least we hopefully won't have to do that again until the kids are in college, at the earliest.

2003-05-19T09:09:00.000-04:00

That's Not The Pizza, That's Your Child

It's been training now for many weeks. Spending a good portion of each day working on mucle tone, coordination and agility, it is seeing some of that hard work pay off. And so are we. This past weekend, my wife noticed that she was feeling faint movements inside of her belly, and we have now independently confirmed that our child is learning how to play soccer. Indeed, we are already putting together a strict regimen of training for the child so that it can early on join the professional level infant and toddler soccer leagues and move on from there. We're interviewing several candidates for agency positions now, and have already put out feelers to the more prominent franchises. Needless to say, we are very excited about these prospects and will share our continuing efforts with you on a regular basis.

2003-05-16T09:31:00.000-04:00

The Toughest Job You'll Ever Love

I had an interesting conversation last night with a colleague regarding finding fulfillment in one's employment. I know that there are some people out there who are young and in their first careers and still love what they do, and they are to be admired (privately, of course -- publicly the rest of us should take any opportunity possible to kick them in the shins). The real question is, how did they know that they would find fulfillment in their jobs? Were they lucky? Did they have a revelation that brought them to where they were? Or, (as I sneakingly suspect) did they alter their expectations when they enterred the workforce to find fulfillment when they could? My colleague mentioned that her key to success in the legal world was simply to live by the mantra that it is your job to make your boss look good. Well, that's certainly a good way of gaining accolades and such, but is in really a noble long-term employment goal? Isn't there more to being a working adult than that?

I think this is one of the reasons why I am going to B-school in the first place. After all, I can muster up enough energy to make my boss look good any day, but I want to know what's beyond that and find something there that I personally want to accomplish, and not merely on the coattails of my superior. I can't be entirely sure, but I am willing to guess that most of my future colleagues in B-school probably have the pleasing the boss thing down to a science, but wouldn't be there unless they were looking for something more -- a different kind of achievement that expands beyond mere riches and accolades but encompasses the elusive brass ring of personal fulfillment and the maximization of our individual potentials. It is genuinely exciting to be on this path, even if it means serious cramming, learning team dramatics, and sleepless nights.

Others, I am sure, seek the same rewards via a different path. One such person is an old friend of mine from college, Peter Bine, who is spending the next 27 months as a mid-career entrant in the Peace Corps in Cameroon. There, he will be helping local businesses and entrepreneurs with small business development and marketing advice. He has created a blog to keep us informed of his goings-on at peteincameroon.blogspot.com, and I know I'll be reading it. Good luck Pete!

2003-05-14T12:32:00.000-04:00

Another Pseudonymous MBA Blog

Yet another blog to add to the growing list -- Modz Speranto, yet another masked MBA student (heading to Anderson in the fall) has been running a blog longer than I've had mine. Yet another place to learn about the MBA application process, as well as fatherhood and the MBA experience. I know I'll be reading his blog, if for nothing else than for tips on how to survive a sleepless infant while studying for exams.

2003-05-12T12:00:00.000-04:00

One Generation To Undo An Empire

It started out as an easy-going Mother's Day. Marilyn (my wife) was out buying the second half of her maternity clothes set (yet another way that the maternity clothing industry rips you off -- you can't buy clothes for your pregnancy, they only make them for a cetain half of your pregnancy), still bemoaning the fact that all maternity clothes are incredibly expensive and still shoddy in quality. But hey, we're almost halfway there now. We were supposed to be meeting my parents at my grandmother's place in New Jersey at 3, so around 1:30 I called the cab company that my grandmother has been using for something like 40 years to tell them to send one over to us at 3. "Er, sorry, they're all backed up at the airport, but I get get you one for 4:30!" No problem. We take the A train/NJT bus across the GWB and we're there in no time. The visit was fun -- we got to show off our ultrasound pictures (and argue for 15 minutes on one of them as to where the head was -- I hope we don't have this problem after the baby is born) and have a nice Mother's Day visit.

Then, it was around 8:00. Remembering what happened in the afternoon, and wanting to schedule a cab for 10:00 pm or so to coincide with the end of dinner, I called the cab company again. A different dispatcher this time, who was not nearly as friendly, said "No cabs available now." "Fine, I don't need one now. How about 10:00." "No." "10:30?" "Call back at 9:30 or so and I'll have a better idea." Now, I'm not fooled. If I call back at 9:30 he'll be telling me midnight or later, so I try again. "I'd relaly like to nail something down. How about 11:00?" Click. The SOB just up and hung up on me, and I wasn't even being snooty! So I called him back and gave him a piece of my mind -- a very loud, obnoxious piece of my mind about treating customers with respect, yada yada yada. It wasn't until after I hung up the phone that I realized that this guy already knew I was attached to my grandmother's account at their company. My grandmother, who would never blow up at a taxi dispatcher, had cultivated a relationship with this company for 40 years. Even though she said that it wasn't going to be a problem and that I hadn't done anything to damaging, I couldn't help thinking that I had scuttled a 40-year relationship to satisfy my primal urge to vent at an ass.

dispatch, n. 1. A prompt sending off of something. 2. Something quickly sent. Yeah, right.

2003-05-09T11:38:00.000-04:00

Diamonds Are Forever -- Buying One Seems Like It

I went to the Jewelry District in midtown yesterday to go shopping for a Mother's Day present (mom, if you're reading this, I'm not telling). My buddy, single-but-attached guy that he is, was thinking about the process of buying a diamond -- sometime, between the near and distant futue, caveat, caveat, etc. (you get the idea) for his girlfriend to 'make things official', as it were. So I took him with me on a little field trip through 47th Street between 5th and 6th avenues so that he could see "the jungle" for himself. For those of you who have never been, it's a madhouse of diamond dealers, street hawkers, serious foot traffic, and thousands of people looking around very cautiously (either trying to spot a potentially lucrative pickpocketting opportunity or trying to avoid one). Of course, that's just the exterior. Once inside, you are treated to a thousand desperate diamond wholesalers looking to pawn out whatever pieces of glass they have in stock on the unsuspecting buyer. In this world, information is far more valuable than money, and knowing the current state of the diamond industry can mean the difference between getting a killer deal or getting ripped off. All of this for a hunk of clear mineral. My friend, needless to say, was a little overwhlemed. Of course, when I got my wife's ring I went through my cousin for the stone, his brother-in-law for the setting, his friend for the insurance, etc., etc. It always helps to have people to shepherd you through the process. However, even with this assistance the process of assessing color, clarity, size, accuracy of cut, etc. is a harrowing experience (and I have yet to find any shmo on the street that can accurately tell me the difference between an 'F' colored diamond and an 'H' colored diamond with the naked eye, which is how most people look at diamonds.) For all you women out there, just appreciate what a guy (who probably had little to no jewelry experience up until then) goes through to get past this jungle with your perfect engagement ring.

2003-05-06T10:09:00.000-04:00

No One Messes With My Dad

I had my first parental instinct yesterday. We were at the doctor's office, and I'm looking at my child on the sonogram screen. The technician is trying to get a shot of the child's head to get some readings of some sort or another, and the fetus is having a grand old time spinning around, moving its mouth (I'm convinced its teaching itself how to sing -- my wife thinks its learning how to talk back to its bosses), and playing hide from the camera. So to get it to move, the technician starts poking my wife's belly, trying to get the fetus to turn around a bit in response. Immediately, I had a very sharp impulse to yell out, "Hey! Stop poking my kid!". I don't know where it came from. It was definitely something that sprung out of the reptilian part of my brain, but there it is. Of course, in my mind, it's a completely justifiable reaction. I mean, if you were playing around and learning how to do things like, say, sing opera, you wouldn't want someone poking you around either.

Black's Law Dictionary: instinct, adj. Imbued or charged, as in "the contract is instinct with an obligation of good faith". I am not making this up people.

2003-05-05T15:04:00.000-04:00

Ten Fingers, Ten Toes, Two Lips, One Nose

You read correctly. My child is, according to currently available data, structurally within normal parameters. We opted, after some serious contemplation, not to find out the gender, much to the chagrin of my mother, who didn't believe me when I told her that no, in fact, we didn't know and yes, we're ok with that. I completely respect those parents who choose to find out as much as possible about their child as soon as possible though, of course, in some cases knowing too much can be too much of a good thing. Our ultrasound technician told us of a couple, both doctors, whom upon learning that their child was a boy seemed very concerned that the testes were checked via ultrasound carefully to rule out the possibility of a rare disorder called testicular feminization. Now, this non-lethal disorder occurs in, approximately, one in every TWENTY THOUSAND live births. To give you some sort of perspective, I checked an interesting website on general statistics in New York State. There is a fifty times better chance that the child is question will become a convicted prisoner than that it has testicular feminization. There are twenty-one more Members of the U.S. House of Representatives from the state of New York than there are (by statistical average) children born with this disorder each year in New York. Most sobering, though, is that there are one hundred times as many lawyers as there are children born with this disorder. Some parents really need to get their priorities straight. If they were really concerned parents, they would instead be asking far more serious questions -- such as whether the child has a propensity toward crime, politics, or law.

2003-05-02T16:28:00.000-04:00

Uber-Cynic Theater

Last night my wife and I met friends to see the Off-Broadway production of "Kiki and Herb: Coup de Theatre". Now, I thought I was a shameless cynic, but I can't hold a candle to these two guys. Apparently (and I didn't know any of this until after I saw their show), these two have been performing for a long time and make fun of everything. When I say everything, I'm not just talking about politics and religion. Heck, no. That's child's play to these two. In the guise of a faux-nightclub act, these two make fun of Columbine, the mentally ill, the disabled, alcoholism...no joke. There were lines like "People die, ladies and gentlemen. That's all you need to know." It's the kind of show you really need to prepare for in advance. According to one post I read about their act, the Catholic League of Civil Rights apparently included their act as one of the ten most un-Catholic shows in existence (I'm still looking for a link for this). According to the same review, a Harper's Bazaar article on this duo read: "Kiki and Herb are cabaret's answer to The Blair Witch Project: no budget, lots of underground buzz, and so frightening to watch." The Village Voice compared their show to "watching a train derail in front of you". Nothing could be more true. It's good to know that there are still some people out there who can really offend -- besides lawyers.

And speaking of offensive lawyers, why is it that I can always pick a gang of lawyers out of a crowd. After the show, we headed to a little Italian restaurant in the Village and, it being a beautiful night, sat out back in the outdoor garden. Now, it's an open, outdoor space. Why is it that even in such a totally unacoustical area a nearby table of lawyers can fill up the entire place with their own voices? Despite having no interest in their conversation, over the course of dinner I became acutely aware of their current caseload, some privileged facts, and what they thought of their clients, bosses, and bosses' wives? If only I was an opposing counsel to one of them, man that would have been good.

Based on the feedback I've received from yesterday's submission, I'm going to experiment with a little 'gimmick' involving choice words from "lawyerspeak" and their supposed "legal" definitions. Fear not, I will not do this for every entry (gimmicks can get so tiring). Just enough to keep you coming back for more.

Legalspeak according to Black's law dictionary: Rescue, n. The forcible and unlawful freeing of a person from arrest or imprisonment.
So, next time you watch the news are hear about stranded skiiers and a rescue mission forming, call the cops.

2003-05-01T11:15:00.000-04:00

Major League Left Fielder?

So I'm innocently surfing the Internet, looking up my own name on Google (come on -- how many of you can honestly say that they've never done that? Liars...) when suddently I find our that I'm in a league of sorts, the league of MBA bloggers. Now, if I'm going to be in a league, I'm pretty sure I want to know what kind of league it is. Considering most of my comments on this blog, if its like the major leagues, then I'm definitely a left fielder. (If you are North American or a non-American basefall fanatic DON'T READ THIS: Non-baseball fans note -- The term 'from out of left field' is used commonly in North America to mean 'from out of nowhere', and thus is a mildly clever self-deprecation. If you're a soccer fan, imagine instead that I said something like "from out of the little corner thingie on the soccer field where the penalty kicks come from." There, don't you feel better now?)

However, after looking in Black's Law Dictionary (the source of all true knowledge) for the definition of league, it gave me the following definition: "A covenant made by nations, groups, or individuals for promoting common interests or ensuring mutual protection." Mutual protection? My goodness, you mean I need to come to defend Adam Medros if HBS is attacked by the People's Republic of Cambridge storming across the Charles River? I need to do fly-bys over Tad Holbie's house? I don't even know where Tad Holbie's house is! Or even who Tad Holbie is! I'd better think about this league thing a bit before I commit fully. Sounds serious.

PS - Black's law dictionary is geat. If you read it enough, you'll lose the ability to speak the English language and will only be able to talk in legal-speak. For example, the folowing is a definition for "leakage": "Loss of value of a piece of intellectual property because of unauthorized copying." So when my wife says to me "we've got some serious leakage from these cheap diapers", I'll yell out "sue the pirates!". It'll be fun.

2003-04-29T18:10:00.000-04:00

Here's Three Cents, We'll Call It Even

I'm riled again, so watch out. Sometimes I am simply amazed at the beauty of our legal system. In this case, my topic of the day is class action lawsuits, a perennial favorite. They are best described as circumstances so egregiously unfair as, to paraphrase Winston Churchill, that rarely in human affairs are so few enriched by so much by the ills of so many. Take, for example, the most recent Wall Street quasi mea culpa, the settlement between the largest financial firms and security regulators. Over the last several years, investors have lost billions of dollars due to the shenanigans of the the largest Wall Street financial institutions. As a result of the class-action lawsuit brought against these firms, a $1.4 billion settlement was struck. Of that amount, how much do you think is going to the investors? $387.5 million. How much do you think the lawyers get? Probably almost as much. I know that in the $900 million price-fixing class action suit in the '90s, the lawyers took home over $100 million in fees. Of course, how much do the individual investors get? If any single one gets over $100, I'll be shocked. My idea of fairness? The amount of work that a class-action lawyer does for a case is not directly related to the amount of the judgment. In my opinion, a lawyer should accept the lesser of a pre-agreed contingency fee or a premium over his or her regular hourly fees for a class-action suit if the lawyer wins. It's ridiculous that a lawyer can sue on behalf of thousands of people and end up benefitting only himself when he wins. Sheesh.

2003-04-28T12:23:00.000-04:00

JD Versus MBA, The Monster Unleashed

While perusing my fellow soon-to-be MBA student Tad Holbie's website, I read a short essay of his on the difference he noted between law school and business school. This being a very interesting topic to me, being a lawyer, I feel that this is a good opportunity to comment on something that I have only made slight allusions to previously on this forum. Obviously, my opinion on this issue is a little jaded and self-formed, having been a lawyer for nearly the last 4 years (and having started law school almost 7 years ago -- I can hardly believe it!)

Tad mentions several differences in his article, the most prominent being employment rate after graduation. Of course, as Tad alludes, the legal profession is an unusual bird. Besides being, perhaps, the only profession in America that is entirely self-regulated (more on this in another post), the restrictions on practicing law outside of the accredited law school / state bar system are practically non-existent. You need a JD to take the bar exam. You need the bar exam to become a bar member (for the most part -- kudos to anyone who can find the exception to this rule in the US), and you need bar membership to practice law. Thus, all of law school is basically a feeder system into the legal profession. Of course, this does not guarantee jobs for every graduate fo every law school, but if demand for lawyers is low and remains low, you will not see droves of people running to attend law school. Thus, the supply flow of future lawyers basically keeps up with demand. Sure, some people say that a law degree is a good generalist program. But for all the talk that a law degree is useful beyond the legal industry, I personally see no benefit of getting a law degree unless you intend to practice law, which is what law school trains you to do. Compare business school programs. Here, there is no defined path for an MBA graduate. Even the typical feeder industries from business school such as I-banking and consulting have plenty of prominent individuals that never received MBAs. An MBA is not tied to a particular industry, and thus a graduate faces more of the general national employment demand when searching for a job. Yet the purspose of buiness school needs to be considered. A business school education is not designed to create a professional, as law school does, because business school students are already professionals. From these professionals, business school creates leaders. This, for me, is the particular draw of an MBA. A JD program seeks to create a master of law. An MBA program seeks to create a leader of men (and women).

The other issue that Tad brings us is the ease of applying to law school. Having successfully applied to both, there is no question that law school requires much less preparation and effort. But, to me, this is a significant disadvantage. It was exceedingly easy to apply to law school, and so, when I was 20 years old and applying, I thought very little about the process. The process of applying for an MBA, in comparison, is a soul searching experience, leading in my mind to far better and more informed choices. It needs to be this way, because most law students are straight out of college (or those who worked in a get-by drink-lots post-college job for one year). Thus, the top law schools are filled with the best and brightest college students, filled with academic acumen but little in the way of real-life experiences (and there is no interview for law school, so possibly lacking in social graces as well). If asked it fill out b-school type essays, they woul have very little to write about. Business school, on the other hand, is all about accomplishment. My future classmates, many of whom I have already met, are already accomplished. Their experiences are not centered on theory and book-knowledge, but on real-world experience and effort. As between the two, I would prefer the B-school application process any day for creating the learning environment that I would like to experience.

One last note: If your goal is to 'get a job', don't be fooled by the high placement statistics of law schools. Those are lawyers being cranked out of those JD programs, and trust me, you've got to really want to be one for it to be worth your while.

2003-04-28T11:45:00.000-04:00

Disney and Other Scary Things

My wife and I took my inlaws to see The Lion King yesterday. We got excellent house seats (one of my wife's colleagues is married to one of the stage managers -- it's great to know people) and, of course, the show was excellent. It being a Sunday matinee, there were many young children in the audience. This was not altogether unsurprising as, after all, The Lion King was a Disney movie. What I was surprised to see, however, was the extent of adult innuendo that was involved in the production. It was definitely a few levels beyond the movie, and although I am sure that the younger members of the audience did not catch a lot of the more mature references, I wonder if their slightly older siblings might have and let the little ones in on puns like when Scar and Zazu have the interchange "I need bucking up." "You're already bucked up, royally." Another thing that shocked me was how scary the show could be. The hyenas seemed like silly, bumbling ne'er-do-well antagonists in the movie, but on stage these guys were larger than the lions and a little freaky looking. During "Be Prepared", I got goose bumps. I wonder how the little kids were taking it. Being a future parent, I think about weird things like this. It's only going to get worse from here...

2003-04-25T00:23:00.000-04:00

Parental Unit In Training

So in an effort to learn a bit more about this whole parenting thing, I agreed to babysit my three-year-old cousin for a few hours during this past Passover holiday. So we went to a kiddie carnival that was going on near the hotel, which is basically a place full of those crazy looking blow up thingies that look like animals in which kids crawl in germ covered plastic balls and hit each other with giant padded sticks while balancing on little air-filled mushrooms. So my cousin wants to go inside a giant bullfrog, in which gale force winds have been created, blowing around balloons within the belly of the frog like they were, well, balloons in a gale. So inside we go, and my cousin is having a ball, chasing balloon after balloon. So far, I'm thinking -- hey, this parenting thing is pretty easy. So I decide to become a little more active in the role of surrogate authority figure / encouraging role model, and I start to yell "get the pink balloon! get the pink balloon!" My cousin, ever eager to please, starts to chase after the pink balloon like it was a lost $100 bill. Now I'm thinking, "hey, she's even listening to me! What great parenting genes I must have!" Pleased with myself, I watch a little while longer when without warning two other small girls around my cousin's age enter the giant hurricane bullfrog, and immediately start to go after balloons of their own. One, of course, manages to snatch the pink balloon, unaware that grabbing the elusive thing had become my cousin's sole purpose in life not a few moments before. Emotional carnage, as you can imagine, ensued almost immediately. It was at this point that I came face to face with the realization that I had no idea what I was doing. First I tried logic, explaining to my three-year-old cousin that a slobber-covered balloon was not something that one should be too concerned about in a big-picture sense. This failing, I tried diversionary tactics, such as yelling "get the purple balloon! get the blue balloon!" My cousin, being young and impressionable but not stupid, was not one to fall for such pedestrian tactics. Nor did a short discussion on sharing manage to impress her. Fortunately, as my arsenal had run dry, her father appeared and within 30 seconds all was once again right with the world. Just so you know, I now live in abject fear of parenthood. I know, a little late, but in my book any source of angst is a good source of angst, thank you very much.

2003-04-21T22:43:00.000-04:00

Intrigue at the Seder Table

Too much to write in one entry, and as there are 1,800 guests and one working internet connection at this hotel, I must be quick, but I cannot get away without writing at least one entry...

For years and years, back in the innocent days of my childhood, my parents would hold the Passover holiday at our home. This was a joyous occasion for my siblings and I, but it was a less joyous occassion for my mother, as she would inevitably do most of the cooking and cleaning. So it was about six years ago that we began spending Passover at a hotel in the Catskills. Now, for those of you who are unfamiliar with the Catskills, think of Dirty Dancing, but with a throng of starved geriatrics instead of Patrick Swayze. This place still tries to relive the glory days (the Catskills hasn't been much of a destination since the ease of vacation travel and the advent of the jet engine. But here we are, several decades later...), but each year it looks a drab more faded and out of place. The Catskills industry has gone into a long period of consolidation over the last few decades, and now only three or four of the old-style hotels remain where there once were dozens.

Now, I don't know what happens around here outside of the Passover holiday, but I have to imagine that the occupancy rate is somewhat less than optimal. Passover, however, is a cash cow for these places, where the place actually sells out and is filled to capacity. This year, however, intrigue struck as early as the first day that we arrived and spread like wildfire through the hotel. It appears that the current owners have been banking on gambling coming to the area, and soon. Unfortunately, it hasn't yet happened, and the place (I purposefully avoid using its name, as nothing that I have to say has any basis in concrete evidence) is apparently starved for cash. In order to remain alive in the ever slimming hope that a swath of casinos will drop in from the sky (without hotels of their own, of course) to save the place, the hotel has begun pouring the olive oil for its own golden goose. It may not have been a big deal at all, actually, had it not affected the food. I, for one, personally avoid the plethora of ever-present buffet tables around this place, as I feel that getting trampled by a crowd of elderly folk who know how to use canes and walkers as deadly weapons is now how I want my young life to resolve right now. But apparently the absence of two types of smoked herring or deliciously bland Passover cakes is enough to send this crowd into a near riot. It is shaping up to be, if nothing else, an entertaining Passover indeed.

2003-04-16T13:19:00.000-04:00

Bobo The Real Estate Agent

Last Sunday we drove out to the suburbs of Philadelphia to look for our new home over the next two years (at least). We had grand ambitions, but due to scheduling difficulties and the fact that we didn't even go to sleep until 6 AM the night (morning) before (see previous entry), we didn't get to see too many places. One such snafu, however, actually became worth the aggravation. We had originally scheduled a 3:00 appointment with a real estate broker, who promised us that a representative would be present to show us an available 2 bedroom apartment. So we diligently showed up at the building at 3:00 pm and, of course, no agent. We wait -- still no agent. Around 3:20 or so we decide to get back on the road and look at a couple of other places, and we're about five minutes away when I get a call on my cellphone from, of course, the agent. So we had back to the apartment building to take a look at the apartment. The agent, dressed like he just came back from a day at the beach, turns out to be a guy whom I know from alumni events at Penn -- (I won't tell you from where exactly, it would give him away -- something that I'd like to spare him -- this time...)

So after a couple of pleasantries (during which my wife had to remind him that we were there, actually, to see an apartment), he starts fumbling around to figure out which apartments he wants to show me. He's got three in mind, he says, though they're not too different from each other. He tells us to follow him and steps out of the office, at which point I ask if it's ok to close the door behind me. He said yes, but I guess he should have checked his pockets first, because he not only left his keys to the office in the office, he left the keys of the apartments that we were supposed to see in the office as well. My wife looks at me a little funny, but he tells us not to worry and that there should be pople in the apartments to let us in. Now, when we were with a broker in New York, we always made sure not to be around when the broker was showing our apartment, so I inquired and, in fact, he had not informed any of the residents of the three apartments that we would be coming over. So, we start off towards one of the three apartments, which our agent walks right past without noticing it. He then actually hit himself of the head , muttered "stupid! stupid!" to himself, spun around, and plowed into us on his way back to the door. Of course, no one was home (but I can only imagine what state of affairs an apartment might be in that didn't know anyone was coming). Same with the second one. Finally, the third apartment had residents at home. One sleeping mother, one sleeping baby, and one irate grandmother. She, grudgingly, let us swing through the apartment (without us looking in the bedrooms, where said sleeping parties were slumbering). Our agent, every once in a while, made useful little comments like "there's the bathroom...there's the tub...that's the kitchen...no I don't know the square footage..." We felt so bad for the residents that we took off fairly quickly. The last we saw of our agent, he was breaking into the window of his own office. As we were heading back to our car, I had to keep my wife from breaking into hysterical laughter. Moral: Every once in a while, take a look at the face of your company -- it may have a red ball for a nose that you wouldn't know about if you didn't check.

PS -
The bad news: I'll be disappearing for a couple of days for the first days of Passover.
The good news: I'll be spending it with friends and family, so I'll have lots of material when I next post.

2003-04-15T16:20:00.000-04:00

"This Is Roadside Assistance -- How Can I Abandon You Today?"

So Saturday night my wife and I decide to take a little trip to Atlantic City (it being only one hour from Philly, it seems like a good idea at the time.) After raking in a good sum (thank goodness!) we go back to the car and head back on the road. Now, the car is making a little noise, but no lights are blinking on the dashboard, so I'm thinking everything's cool. We get to about 3 miles before the Walt Whitman bridge (which crosses the Delaware River and connects New Jersey and Pennsylvania), when BAM! We hit a small pothole and suddenly hear a screeching sound. We pull over and I get our to take a look -- at our muffler hanging sideways underneath the car and dragging on the pavement. So we call our auto insurance company (not to name names -- GEI*O) and connect to emergency roadside assistance. After about 20 minutes of describing where we are on the highway, the guy on the phone says that he's got to find a towtruck to come out and tow us. No problem, we think. NINETY MINUES LATER -- no towtruck. We call, and the guy tells us that he is unable to find a towtruck company that is willing to cross state lines. Now, realize that we are three miles from the bridge. But, notwithstanding the fact that it is now five in the morning and we are stuck on the side of the highway, the insurance company (no names now -- *EICO) has basically abandoned us. No "we'll keep trying". No "we'll send someone as soon as we can -- just sit tight and don't worry." Just a "sorry, there's nothing we can do for you." Can you imagine if all emergency services acted like this? "What? A fire? Sorry, we're on our lunch break." "A burglary in progress? Sorry, we don't have any patrol cars in your area -- we just can't help you right now. Call back later." So we decided to call 911. State police had a guy out there in ten minutes. He was ready, willing and able to tow us into Philly too, but he told us that if he kicked off the muffler entirely, we could still drive the car. It wasn't even that much noisier. So, yeah, we got back to our hotel at six in the morning. But we would still be out there if it had been up to G*ICO.

2003-04-15T09:23:00.000-04:00

Wharton Welcome Weekend Part Three -- Shock and Awe

I tried. I really, really tried. But attending more than three club socials was, simply, impossible on many levels. There were 30 or so club socials, all taking place between the hours of six and eight p.m., all equally distant from each other across the city of Philadelphia, all wanting to press the flesh with as many admits as possible. As there was no chance I was getting anywhere near an automobile, and taking cabs to five or six different points all nine or ten blocks away from each other wasn't exactly appealing, I resigned myself to the fact that I would, to some degree, be limited (not in the number of items imbibed, mind you, just the locations of their manufacture). I hit the investment management group (things are looking up this year! We're not hemmoraging money!), the arts and entertainment group (Sure people succeed in this field! Er... do you know someone in the business? Anyone? Please???) and the partners club (Enjoy each other now. Really.)

I will make a few statements about the PANGEA party. I was not in attendance. However, I have several reliable sources that the beat was strong enough to be used as a seismic comparison tool, but not, again, conducive to any form of communication. This, apparently, included sign language, as it was dark enough that one didn't have to worry about making a fool of one's self. And some fools were made, from what I understand, as pressing the flesh continued in a variety of forms.

Saturday....ah....Saturday. The birds were singing, the sun was shining (well, it started shining at least), the hotel breakfast was filling -- and then...the triumvirate of terror arrived in all of its menacing glory: the 9 AM "financing your education" seminar (prepare to market your firstborn now), the 10 AM "career management" seminar (there is so much more to life than steady employment), and the 11 AM "academic requirements" seminar (remember tests and termpapers? You ain't seen nothin' yet.) First, the financing seminar. Now, we all know how much B-school costs. This information is publicly available. So, too, is interest rate information. We all know how much we intend to borrow in loans. But there is something about seeing the numbers appearing on an overhead projection screen that still brings it home -- and hard. The school did us the favor of estimating our monthly payments based on certain borrowing scenarios (all of which with caveats -- that interest rates don't rise from the record low levels that they are at now, that we don't recapitalize our unsubsidized interest, etc.). I saw several students turn white, then green. I found myself wishing that the hotel breakfast had not been so filling......

The career management seminar took place in one of Huntsman Hall's large lecture rooms, where I immediately realized that the comfortable leather chairs were designed to lull the unsuspecting student into peaceful slumber....perhaps to avoid the less than comfortable news on the overhead. No, I kid...slightly. Prospects are up this year, and every possible method to help us get jobs is, I am certain, being explored by the career management office. (In other words...if you don't get a job -- don't blame us!)

Academic services was up next, and they made it perfectly clear that if we thought Wharton was an easy coast, or that the grade non-disclosure policy was going to save us from ever being concerned about our academic performance -- think again. This is no cake walk, baby. This is a real, hardcore, top-of-the line academic workout. But don't worry if you can't keep up the pace, there's always Powerball.

After having been frightened into fetal positions, we were almost glad to see those kind sign and taser wielding cohort leaders who had arrived to bring us to lunch, where my well-rested, refreshed, and totally unfrightened wife met me, wondering why my colleagues and I were all muttering uncontrollably and gesticulating at the sky.

After lunch, we set off on separate roads again. My wife to a partner's panel where kind people offered solace to our spouses' impending loss of spousal company, and I to a student panel, where we learned a great deal about the primary source of our partners' woe: the learning team. For the uninitiated, a learning team is a group of six or so business school students brought together by the school's administration in a method to ensure the maximum level of dysfunctionality, who are then required to spend inordinate amounts of time together working on assignments that will ensure utter chaos among them for weeks or months at a time. If we're lucky. Seriously, I learned two important things about learning teams during this panel: 1) Try your best to become friends as early as possible. That way, you won't feel bad about letting down total strangers. 2) No matter how lazy you think you are, there will always be someone in your learning team intent on doing less than you. I'm sure there will be more on this to come. There was also some discussions about something called a "Director's List". None of the students on the panel knew exactly what it was, except to say that people who were listed on it often disappeared for long periods of time and, upon returning, appeared slightly less human than when first encountered.

After the student panel, we all began a long trek across campus to get to our next event at the University Museum. As I was walking, I realized that the nice people with the signs were nowhere in sight, and that a good chunk of the huge line of admits walking across campus were going the wrong way. Being the dedicated Penn alumnus that I was, I did my best to get people turned around and back toward the museum. As I was heading across campus, I realized that most of the admits were lined up for blocks, following me. I had a quick discussion with my wife about possibly taking a "scenic" route, but decided that life would be much easier for the next two years if I wasn't kicked in the shins every time I came within legspan of another Wharton student, so I decided against it. When we arrived at the University Museum auditorium, we were trated to a variety production called "A Slice of Life". Here, interspersed between riveting speeches by more alumni (every aspect of life on this planet is at our command), students (the only depressing thing about Wharton is knowing that you'll have to leave it someday, even if you try to pursposefully fail a few classes), and the Dean (sorry, a little early to be poking fun at the dean), were some incredible performances by some amazingly talented people. Follies, Indian dancing, Can-Can, a capella, step shows, etc. Some were so talented that I began to wonder why they decided to go to business school in the first place? I guess being a billionaire is a halfway decent fallback if the whole Broadway/movies thing doesn't pan out.

As WWW drew to a close later than evening at dinner among the mummies and towering statues in the University Museum, I was suddenly hit with a realization that this thing was actually happening. Sure, I know I'm going to Wharton. I've been "going" to Wharton for well over a year now. But WWW made that a lot more than something that I would tell my relatives when they asked me what I planned to do with my life now that my judicial clerkship is ending this summer. Now, I'm not just "going". I'm there.

2003-04-14T16:59:00.000-04:00

The Hah-vud Yarn

Brief interlude from my WWW diatribe here to report a new inclusion on my growing list of blog links. Adam Medros is an HBS Class of 2004, and, incidentally, the husband of Jenny Brown. (Keep in mind that this does not make Jenny Brown the wife of Adam Medros.) He's going to be an MBA dad, so I keep track of his goings-on for a multitude of purposes. Besides, he has a great blog and a fresh view on B-school, and even if he is an HBS student, we'll read him.

2003-04-14T12:59:00.000-04:00

Wharton Welcome Weekend Part Two -- Institutional Hyperactivity

The second day of Wharton Welcome Weekend began at 8:00 AM with tours of the Wharton campus. While I was certainly unconscious at that time, I am sure that they went swimmingly.

Instead, it was 9:00 AM when I dragged my half-awake body, still screaming for slumber, to Huntsman Hall to meet my quasi-cohort for the weekend. The 800 or so participants were dividedinto 12 "cohorts" for the weekend for ease of space and movement. While the real cohorts are merely designated by letter once the school year begins, our cohorts were named after special events in the Wharton calendar. My cohort, the Rainbow Party, was named after an annual wharton event in October. The WWW guide describes it as follows: "The Rainbow Party is a party for EVERYONE! Bring a vibrant costume, but leave your inhibitions at home." (I guess they figure that without this instruction, a vibrant costume is only window dressing for the tightly wound Wharton student within -- kind of like clowns at a state dinner. Not my experience, but to each his own....) Here, we started our day by breaking up into groups and playing a icebreaker games, including "Two Truths and a Lie." You know this game. I know this game. What I didn't experience until now, however, was playing this game with a room full of hell-on-wheels overachievers. An example of a typical exhortation:
1. I spent three years at NASA designing high energy, high efficiency jet propulsion materials.
2. I hang glided along fourteen deep dry bed ravines in the last eighteen months.
3. I played second and first chair violin for a major philharmonic orchestra for four seasons in the mid 1990s.
Which one is the lie? Who cares???

From there, things got rolling. Friendly cohort leaders with signs appeared to bring us across campus to the giant Irvine Auditorium for the official Welcome Address, with its requisite corporate sponsorship (this time by UBS Warburg). The show started off with a bang when one of the student organizers forgot the carefully planned and test-marketed slogan of the WWW of "Discover. Create. Become." (So much for brand recognition...) They were followed by more impressive alumni and distinguished speakers, driving home the point that Wharton is in fact the best thing that could ever happen to a young person in our shoes. (Look to your left. Look to your right. One of you will someday be as rich and powerful as me. The other two will be more so.) The speech by Professor Metrick was particularly poignant, made more so by the unintentional warning made by his introducer that this would likely be the last time that we would get to hear his words of wisdom, as seats in his class went for 4 billion points apiece in the last Wharton class auction.

Just as we were getting comfotable, our friendly cohort leaders arrived with signs and lassos to corral us back to Huntsman Hall. Here, we attended a "mock class" (does this mean we're only supposed to pretend to be learning something?). Actually, it was very interesting. We spent most of the class discussing why it is impossible to make money in the airline industry and that we should be directing all of that investment capital into the production of brown fizzy sugar water. The mock class ended with a life lesson: The result of every decision that you make in life can be boiled down to two questions. First, were you right? Second, were you lucky? Affirmative answers lead to wealth and riches. A multitude of sins can be covered by answering yes to at least one. Negative answers lead invariably to Chapter 11.

Just as things were getting interesting, back came the cohort leaders, the signs and the bullwhips, as we were marched to a tent for lunch in sub-40 degree weather, which was an eye opener to say the least. It was here that I was reunited with my wife, where we spent a few minutes discussing my WWW experiences and taking a few tentative bites of food. Time must have flown, because almost instantly those friendly cohort leaders were back with long, pointy spears to get us all over to Club Expo....

Club Expo was a sight. Imagine 450 students vying for information, 45 clubs vying for attention, and 45 minutes within which to vye. My wife and I took the mad dash approach, desparately racing to sign our names on lists and grab as many brochures, pamphlets and, of course, candy as we could in the time allotted (my wife's appetite has, thankfully, recently returned after a three month morning sickness induced hiatus. Less guilt for me.) After signing up for information from everything from Follies to the Partners Club to the Culinary Club, we just barely had time to catch our breath before we noticed the familiar signs and cattle prods heading our way, so we took off in advance and raced back to Huntsman Hall....

Here my wife left me again to head off to a Partner's Social, while I headed off to my "leadership and teamwork workshop". This consisted of one of those Rorschach inkblot / Mysers-Briggs personality model type exercises where small groups were given string, index card, paper clips and tape and given three minutes to build a replica of the Gaudi Cathedral without speaking to each other or making suggestive snorts. (Ok, it didn't have to be the Gaudi Cathedral. Any Gaudi designed structure was sufficient.) Of course, the lessons behind this little exercise were a little too obvious for these Wharton types, so we spent a good deal of our three minutes attempting "out of the box" solutions like silently negotiating with other groups to put their structure on top of ours to make it taller, or firing papers clips at structures that were going up too fast (ok, we didn't actually do that -- but we did discuss it). I guess what we learned from this experience was that while we all had good leadership qualities and were able to deal with each other's styles rather well (when nothing was on the line, of course), we were a rather difficult fit for a typical leadership exercise. Wharton beware!

2003-04-13T23:20:00.000-04:00

Wharton Welcome Weekend Part One -- Inner Sanctum Revealed

I'm back, and with lots to say. So much, in fact, that I'm not going to put the whole Wharton Welcome Weekend into one message. I'll break it up a bit to allow those of you who still have jobs out there not to get fired for getting too engrossed.

Leave it to the great MBA collective mind to maximize the potential value of any given situation. Not even moments after the first reminder for WWW landed in our collective inboxes, my resourseful New York colleagues had already divided us into groups of three to maximize the benefit of the Amtrak's One-Two-Three program (in essence ensuring that we all paid half-price for our tickets to Philadelphia from NYC). One such colleague, a gentleman who was instrumental in our little Amtrak scheme, lamented to me that he feared being branded early in his Wharton career as "the Amtrak guy". Now, as I see it, we're all destined to be remembered for something in the next two years, and I personally wouldn't complain too loudly if it were for something as innocuous as being "the Amtrak guy."

So our bright-eyed, bushy-tailed class of 2005 arrived in Philadelphia ready for anything -- except the sub-40 degree weather, biting cold winds, and pouring rain. Notwithstanding the weather, we found our way to registration and began our three day trial-by-alcohol. I had a bit of a scare when mine was the very last folder in the box that the volunteer went through to find me (I really didn't want to find out just then that my admission was a carefully crafted dream that my conniving brain decided to manufacture), but soon we were off and running. First stop was the wine and cheese party -- sponsored by the Wine Club and the Wharton Alumni Association (only the first of many references during the weekend to a connection between a Wharton degree and copious consumption of alcohol). This event was held on the mysterious eighth floor of Huntsman Hall where students are usually, I understand, not permitted. (The theory is that the administration had to clear out all of the gold bullion before we arrived.) Here we did the meet and greet thing, publicly lamenting our geeky name tags and privately thankful that we didn't have to commit eight hundred faces to memory. We were also treated to a variety of alumni speeches on the vastness of the Wharton alumni network (yes, we do, in fact, control the globe) and the hidden glories of Philadelphia (as one alumnus put it -- Philadelphia is a very livable city. Thank goodness, as I was afraid that it might have been unlivable.) Finally, we received an admonition from Rose Martinelli, the director of admissions, that the weekend's inebriative opportunity should in fact be treated as a marathon, not a sprint, and due moderation should be observed. Now, i have only good things to say of Ms. Martinelli (besides being an accomplished opera singer and thus dear to my heart, she also signed my admissions letter), but while it is true that it is sprint drinking that leads to remorseful hangovers and strange bedfellows, it is marathon drinking that generally results in twelve-step programs.

From the frying pan, we proceeded to the fire, this being the Wharton MBA Pub, a weekly event during the school year that is, we understand, meant to keep all that academic stuff in perspective and keep us focused on what's really important in our MBA career. Here, we were treated to free beer, pizza, pool, foozball, and the last opportunity during the weekend that we would be able to speak to each other without the use of megaphones. More meet and greet, this time bemoaning the silly names of our mock cohorts that were obviously desinged to make us sound like we were attending the Wharton School of Clown Entertainment Dynamics ("Which cohort are you in?" "Jingle Bell Run. You?" "Rainbow Party.") I also noticed that the floor of Pub was clearly designed to withstand numerous spilled beverages, and while I did not personally test this observation with empirical evidence, I nonetheless marvelled at the obvious genius of the highly-advanced Wharton mind hard at work.

Finally, because at this point we had not yet reached the level of inebriation that was to be expected of the world's business leaders of tomorrow, we all headed downtown to the "kick-off party" (excuse me? What had we been doing up until now?) at the Independece Brew Pub. Here, there is little to tell, except that the beat was strong enough to successfully defibrillate, but was not particularly conducive to casual conversation (or causal screaming). I did notice, however, that the entire class had pressed itself to within 5 feet of the bar, leaving 75% of the room empty. It's clear that we learn fast.

2003-04-10T13:04:00.000-04:00

Man Faces Destiny And Potential Alcohol Poisoning --
Film At Eleven

Brief hiatus for a few days while I attend the Wharton Welcome Weekend (assuming that they know I'm coming!) Have no fear, however, I am sure that there will be plenty to report when I return, especially regarding the parts of the weekend that escape the inevitable blacking out that will occur when I attend eleven cocktail receptions in two hours....ah I jest. No, I don't.

2003-04-10T09:35:00.000-04:00

This Blog Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet

My child has a heartbeat. We're hoping to meet the little guy/girl in October. This blog is about to get a lot more interesting.....

According to the doctor, 160 beats per minute is quite normal at this point. The last time I got my heartrate up to 160, I think I was trying to fix a light bulb in the ceiling of the closet. I hope that my child hasn't already picked up my angst this early in life.....

2003-04-09T17:28:00.000-04:00

The Shadow Knows....

Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of bloggers? I know that I'm a somebody now, as my humble little blog has been noticed by the illustrative and enigmatic Tad Holbie, the anonymous MBA applicant who has energized a good portion of the MBA applicant community. I am honored, of course, that Tad has chosen to include a link to my site on his (his??? her???) blog, so I do the same. Good luck Tad -- whoever you are.

2003-04-09T16:52:00.000-04:00

Your Humor Is Noted -- Now Go Earn A Paycheck

Recently, when speaking to my wife about my various experiences blogging, she remarked to me that she just couldn't understand how people found the time to send their thoughts throughout the Internet each evening on a daily basis, when she works like crazy for ten to twelve hours a day with hardly a chance to catch up on her work related emails, and when she gets home that last thing she wants to do is sit in front of another computer screen. Now, in all honesty, she does have a point. I thought about it for a minute, and this is what I've come up with:

1) My wife has never been an admitted MBA student. Now, for all you admitted MBA students out there, you know exactly what I mean. It seems that a letter of acceptance from a business school has an unusual effect on a person. Namely the paper on which the acceptance arrives contains a highly potent chemical that is absorbed through the skin and causes the high-performance, high-initiative areas of the brain to slow down considerably, turning what was once a diligent worker bee into a veritable ne'er-do-well. This effect, thankfully, is only temporary, and tends to disappear right around the time of the first semester midterms.

2) My wife has never worked for the U.S. government. If you count summer internships, this is my fourth job working for the G. For anyone who has ever had some serious G-experience, especially those positions that deal with the public, you know what I'm saying. For those who don't, it's kind of hard to explain except to say that the chemical mentioned in #1 above has significantly less to work with when dealing with a G-man's brain. (A small disclaimer: Whatever I say about the government (and I do love to make fun of it), being a judicial clerk is far, far superior to being a big-firm lawyer. Trust me. You'll hear more as time goes on.)

3) My wife already deals with my crap all the time at home, so she doesn't feel the need to read about more of it over the Internet.

2003-04-09T10:22:00.000-04:00

Puddle Jumping Blogs

Before starting this blog, I learned a great deal about the life of an MBA applicant / student by reading blogs like these. I am now plugging into that community, and learning just how many of us are out there...I mean, don't MBA's take time to study? No...that didn't sound right. I'll try again. I mean, don't MBA's take time to drink? Ah, better.

Some of you may have noticed a new link on the left side of the page there. Martin is an MBA student at the Said Business School in Oxford. So, click on his link, jump the puddle and learn a bit about the life of an MBA at Oxford. Jolly good!

2003-04-09T09:38:00.000-04:00

The Meet and Greet Stagger

So when I filled out the Wharton Welcome Weekend registration form, I checked off a number of boxes indicating which professional and social clubs I had an interest in. Now I must admit, there is an impressive selection at Wharton, from the usual Private Equity and Consulting professional clubs to Wine Tasters, Improv Comedy and A Capella groups. I marked off a few things, anything that looked interesting that I thought I might enjoy. Now, every day this week I get email after email from each of these clubs, giving me information and the like. I have no problem with this. After all, I can read each email individually at my leisure. However, each one wants me to attend their 'happy hour' during WWW. This is normally something that I would do without hesitation. After all, social gatherings are something I particularly enjoy. But in the infinite wisdom of the modern MBA student, every happy hour is at the exact same time. And they are not near each other either. Some are in west Philadelphia on campus, some are in West Philadelphia off campus, some are in Center City, and even those aren't necessarily near each other. I figure that if I don't drink too much, I can get away with two, maybe three. My question is: Don't the different clubs realize this? Can they coordinate so that the times differ a bit? I guess this is just the beginning -- from what I've heard and read, the life of an MBA is a lot about art of choosing between a whole lot of things that you would enjoy to find those that you will benefit from the most, like between a lecture on "How to Make Money Grow on Trees" and a "Beer Chugging For Stock Options" contest.

2003-04-08T00:23:00.000-04:00

Isn't It Ironic That I Can't Define Irony???

I've got a small rant about sportscasters. One local sports reporter said something to the effect of "wasn't it ironic that neither of the coaches in the NCAA finals had ever won an NCAA title?" Sorry, but no, it wasn't ironic. Now, if the game was called off because both teams were forced to forfeit, THEN that would have been ironic. I think that if you're going to be on television, a reasonable requirement is that you learn how to use an adjective. I mean, this blog is a small scale form of mass communication, and I don't think you'd enjoy it nearly as much if I went around saying things like "Isn't it hubristic that it snowed 4 inches in April?"

2003-04-08T00:16:00.000-04:00

LET'S GO ORANGE!!!!

Ok. I promise to only do this once. CUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSE!!!!

Now, back to your regularly scheduled blog.

Thank you.

2003-04-07T09:31:00.000-04:00

Spring Has Sprung -- And Rolled Under The Couch

Snow. April. Snow. 4 to 8 inches. This is the forecast for today. It is 9:20 a.m., and no snow has yet fallen, but far be it from me to disagree with the experts on this matter (remember the 'storm of the century' that was scheduled in the winter of 2000-01 that never came?) But snow or no snow, one thing is certain. Notiwthstanding the one week of reprieve that we received at the end of March, it has been a cold, cold spring. Now, I'm from Syracuse originally (otherwise known as Siberacuse, or the land where Seasonal Affective Disorder was born) so I'm familiar with this. Up there, November through April is fair game for winter weather, and there's always at least one freak blizzard during April. But I've been away for a long time, and this kind of thing still gets to me. I dug up my gloves (that I had so carefully put away for the season), pulled out a scarf and donned my winter coat this morning. The people on the street had that look of impending doom, like they had been cheated of spring, summer and fall and that winter was just going to start all over again without the holidays and pretty lights -- like the antediluvians before the rains fell but without the murdering and stealing and stuff. It's just weather, of course, but somehow I've always attached important milestones to spring, like getting ready to start at Wharton and stop being a lawyer -- so any perceived delay, however illogical, is very depressing. And the flurries have just begun to fall.

Now for the good news. Maybe if Syracuse knows that its snowing in its home state, it will feel more of a "home field advantage" during the NCAA finals this evening. GO ORANGE!!! (Well, hope springs eternal, right?)

PS - It took me three tries to correctly spell 'antediluvian'. It's a good thing that I'm going back to school.

2003-04-04T12:32:00.000-05:00

Wit is the Soul of Bloggery

Now that I'm getting into the rhythm of this blogging experience, I thought I'd pay homage to one my original inspirations for this endeavor. When reading the Business Week MBA message boards, I came across a message thread regarding the experience of partners/spouses of MBA students. This topic particularly interested me, as I know I've got a wonderful wife (who is likely reading this) who is travelling with me to Philadelphia this fall (and I must say that in the cocktail of emotions she has about this move, the five parts support she provides makes her two parts skepticism very palatable). While reading, I read a reference to something known as a "CWIT"* in reference to this topic, inclusive of a link. Intrigued, I followed the link and landed at the pages of one Jenny Brown, author extraordinaire and spouse of an HBS student (I will not use the term wife -- read her pages and understand). I found her fascinating pages so entertaining that I became a regular reader, and soon developed an interest in joining this game myself. So, I am pleased to place a permanent link to her page on this site, which I will include as soon as I figure out how, so that others can bask in her witty exposes on B-school life .

* CWIT, by the way, is a term founded by Jenny that stands for Corporate Wife In Training -- something that Jenny (and my wife) are certainly *not*.

2003-04-04T09:51:00.000-05:00

Blind Leading the Blind

So Wednesday was our most recent Wharton Admit gathering, this time at Bar Nine in Hell's Kitchen (or Clinton, as its residents like it to be called -- but why a neighborhood would want to give up such a great name as Hell's Kitchen is beyond me!) This time about 60 people showed up from both Round One and Round Two. I noticed an amazing phenomenon too -- the school was being marketed so much you could swear it was a sponsored event. Now, I'm thrilled I'm going to Wharton! Don't get me wrong -- it just seemed funny. One guy asked me if I had met anyone yet in the 4 events I've held so far that I've tried to convince NOT to go to Wharton... But everyone I've met so far seems (relatively) laid back and well adjusted (of course, just wait until that first group assignment is due -- then we'll see who's really got it together!) We're all just blind leading the blind anyway...but we're having fun and drinking lots in the meantime.

But soon the light will be a little clearer, because next weekend is Wharton Welcome Weekend, the official kick off for the Class of 2005. (I didn't go last year when I was in the Class of 2004, as I had already received my deferment at that point -- so this has been a long time coming) Now, I recognize that a school can't always have it all together all of the time, so when I didn't receive any confirmation of my registration for WWW, I wasn't too surprised. Of course, being a deferee I always have a sneaking suspicion that I'm one backwards step away from falling through the cracks as it is, so I can get a little paranoid about these things. (I can only imagine showing up on the first day of classes and hearing -- "What was your name again? Weren't you supposed to be here last year? Sorry, we scalped your seat in the class for 80 grand to some guy outside of Veterans Stadium last month....") Needless to say, I emailed, asking for confirmation, which I received. Then, the powers that be sent a message around that an official email went out to all registered participants. Did I get one? No. Blind leading the blind indeed....

2003-04-02T14:56:00.000-05:00

I'm So Rich I'm Poor

So I had a one of those little life episodes yesterday that makes me realize that even though I'm going back to school, that fact hardly makes me a kid. I filled out the Free Application for Federal Student Aid, which you higher education folk will recognize as the FAFSA. Now, back in the days of law school, I remember the FAFSA being like a badge of honor that I, the poor student, could carry around as proof positive of my destitution. Annual income? Zero. Assets? Zero. Bank accounts? Nearly zero. All of which, of course, meant that I would be granted the maximum possible amounts in subsidized Stafford loans, Perkins loans, and other goodies that made up my "stipend" for the upcoming year (and I use that term very loosely, as I am still paying that "stipend" back as we speak.

Now, of course, times have changed. I am married with a working spouse. I have assets. I have retirement accounts. I have investments. My bank accounts, though they could be bigger, are far from zero. Nonetheless, I've never considered myself to be particularly wealthy. I work for the government, and earn what in the G-world is a relatively high income but in the private law firm world that I used to belong to is, for lack of a better term, bubkis. So I figure I'd do okay at this FAFSA thing. Sure, I'm not destitute, but I'm still not rich enough to plop down the tuition for two years of B-school like it was for a nice sweater at Banana Republic. So I fill out the questions carefully and accurately, and the computer, after very little contemplation I might add, spits out an estimate of my contribution to my education. Fifty thousand dollars. I saw this, and I immediately felt like a chump. Here I work hard, save money, and do all of those things that a person is supposed to do to avoid the poor house, and my reward is to have some computer tell me I need to trash my financial state of affairs to return to school. What a downer!

Fortunately, the FAFSA can't stop me from borrowing the maximum amount of Stafford loans, it can only determine how much of them will be subsidized (interest not accruing while I am a student). I also received a partial scholarship from Wharton which will be very helpful. But in all my life, I've never felt so poor about being 'rich'.

2003-03-31T12:04:00.000-05:00

4 Billion Bucks and a No-Doz

Took off for the weekend, but I'm back now! Lots of things going on. It looks like we've got another Wharton event in the works for this coming Wednesday, already we've got 30 or so RSVPs and I'm sure there will, as usual, be a large number of last minute appearances. The Round Two admits join us this time, so it will likely be a large number of new faces who are still going through the "I'm so glad I got into Whaton -- no commitments though..." that we saw a lot of during the first event in January.

Wharton Welcome Weekend is coming up in less than two weeks! I sent the schedule to my wife, who immediately responded "Why am I going to this thing again?" Now I can see where this is going -- only the beginning on a long tug of war of me trying to get my wife involved in my b-school experience so that she feels like she's part of it (and so she's understanding when the schoolwork starts getting crazy), and her explaining patiently to me that she's already done the school thing and if she really wants to go back she'll be sure to let me know...sigh.

Had dinner with good friends of ours on Sunday night. This was the first time in a while that we've been able to go out because he's basically been the prisoner of his law firm for the last 7 months or so. He's been working on a huge deal (no, I'm not going to tell) worth something like $4 billion that finally closed. He's been so busy that at the end he basically clocked something like 41 hours at the office in a row. Now, I remember those long days and nights at the office before I started working for good-old Uncle Sam. And what I remember isn't good. After 24 hours or so in a row, the human being basically loses everything but the most basic level of alertness. Rational thought is difficult. Complex thought is almost impossible. And it is in this state that the law firm expects its associate to accurately and effectively close a $4 billion deal. Crazy? Crazy doesn't even begin to describe it. All I know is that if I was fortunate enough to have $4 billion on the table, I wouldn't want some blearly-eyed kid who hasn't slept in 3 days to make sure the i's were dotted. Hell, he'd probably dot the u's too, and then the whole deal would look German.

2003-03-26T13:33:00.000-05:00

The Practical Blog

One might wonder what practical purpose a blog might serve. Most blogs are designed to be exhibitionist diaries, like memoirs for the great unwashed. Lets face it, the reason why one writes a blog often has very little to do with the reason why one reads a blog. But every once in a while you run into a blog that is truly useful. On an average day at the office, I spend a good portion of time shuttling between different online news websites to get updated information on the war in Iraq. Now, I just read The Command Post. Who says technology is useless? (Well, no one, but anyway...)

2003-03-25T18:07:00.000-05:00

I'm Feeling 8.2% Better, Thank You

I'm a big fan of the stock market. When I was in law school, in the good-old days of never-say-die optimism and 12,000 point Dows, I used to watch CNBC like it was a powerful, moving drama. Nothing, after all, is as riveting as watching the psyche of a nation flip-flop in real time on your television screen. Those numbers were an affirmation that life was good, times were swell, and only high-paying, fulfilling days were ahead.

Bah, humbug.

I'm amazed that people all around me get excited or upset over the changing numbers in the DJIA or the NASDAQ. Maybe I'm a little more grown up now. Maybe I'm just a bit more cynical than I was five years ago. But I find the stock market indexes to be the greatest evidence that millions of years of significant human evolution hasn't really shaped our brains enough to get us completely out of the trees. Last week, after the war in Iraq began, the stock market rose more than 10 percent. TEN! I'm sorry, but nothing sort of the cure for cancer or a nuclear disaster should move the market ten percent in one week. Let's face it, the average investor has gone in 50 years from a sophisticated, educated suit to little Joey playing on E-Trade and Uncle Bob throwing around his 401-K money into whichever fund has the prettiest name. In other words, we've turned a relatively efficient financial gauge into the poorest excuse of mob mentality since tulip bulbs (for those who don't get this reference, replace it with "dot-coms".) And the game has changed with these newcomers. Strangely, as more and more investors enter the market, the level of market inefficiency has exploded. The market is something to be played, like a giant, global betting parlor. Sure, in the long term the market is reflective of the economy, like your height as a youth is, in the long-term, reflective of your age. But that never keeps the big bully from taking your lunch money. The fact is, numbers lie. If you want to join the game, fine. But recognize it for what it is. Hey -- guy sitting next to me practically in tears on the subway this morning -- don't get too bent out of shape about a roller coaster market. And be careful about boiling too much of your life down to numbers. Someone, somewhere, will try to play you.

2003-03-24T12:57:00.000-05:00

Bother Me On My Time

I guess it's strange for a blogger to be criticizing attempts at mass communication. But I figure that if you're here, reading my blog, I'm filling your ear on your own, personal down time. However, things like junk mail, telemarketers, spam and those dumb delivery menus that always manage to appear under our door are not coming to me on my down time. They are interfering with my day, causing me to become distracted from whatever far more noble interest I was pursuing at the time. However, nothing but nothing bothers me as much as the inexcusable crime that can best be described as the "well-meaning forward". You all know what I'm talking about. You get to the office, where, as usual, you find 20 or 30 messages that need immediate attention. And there, right in between message 14 and 16, is a note from your colleage/supervisor/well-meaning co-worker that says "Important! Read This!" or "Critical Information -- Do Not Erase!". Now, like any other normal human being that tries to keep his blood pressure at a reasonable level, I do my best not to get angry at someone sending me potentially important information without telling me in three words what the story is in the subject of the message. (Isn't that why it's called a 'subject' line anyway?) Of course, ignoring the first rule of email procedure (if it doesn't have a subject, there is no subject), I go ahead and read the thing -- 3 pages on how cell phones can cause you to spontaneously combust at a gas station. Worse yet is something like the one I got today, a warning regarding phenylpropanolamine that is three years old and entirely outdated, which will likely cause panic among the uninitiated and cause them to discard bottles and bottles of perfectly good medication in abject fear of the unknown. The worst, of course, is the quasi-religious patriotic message that seems to permutate every .2 seconds during wartime or times of national crisis. Now, I'm as patriotic as the next guy. I support our country and its administration. While I tend to keep my politics private, I don't mind patriotism one bit. However, I am Jewish and when these messages are filled with constant references to church, prayer and Jesus, it sends little shivers down my spine. Especially because I work in the federal government. Now, I know that these people are well-meaning. They are not telemarketers trying to call me during dinner to tell me that I've won my 80th trip this year to Disney World. If anything, it makes me feel worse that these innocents are causing all of this havoc in my daily work schedule, becuase they're so darn innocent that I don't have any real target for my vitriol. That is, except for you, whom I am sure that I have ranted to only during your own, personal down time.

2003-03-23T11:01:00.000-05:00

Real War Is Not Made for TV

I was somewhat surprised yesterday when I spoke with people who were dismayed that the US Army has taken casualties in Iraq. When I was in high school, I played on a varsity soccer team. I wasn't any good, but the team did pretty well. Sometimes, we would play teams that we knew we were going to beat. We had better, more skilled players, and we knew that it would be a blowout. Nonetheless, we would still rarely win by a shutout. We would be scored upon. I figured at the time, hey, we're just kids -- we're not some high-speed soccer playing robots. You put kids on a soccer field, even if one team is much, much more skilled than the other, and anything can happen. I apply the same logic to the Iraq war. For the most part, our soldiers are kids, and so are theirs. We're better trained, better equipped, and probably in better morale, but bullets move faster than men, and they have bullets. War is not some idealized, serialized made-for-TV epic. You put kids on a battlefield, anything can happen.

2003-03-21T13:02:00.000-05:00

Hometown Boy or Loyal Alumnus -- Pick One Only

So the NCAA tournament starts today. As usual, I'm rooting for my two favorite teams, Syracuse (my home town) and Penn (my alma mater). (By the way, who came up with the term 'rooting' anyway? Is it because you have 'roots' with the team? Is it because when they play you yell 'Root! Root!'? I don't get it.) Unfortunately for me, the NCAA tornament committee, in its infinite wisdom, designed the brackets so that if both of my teams win, they will be playing each other in the next game to get to the Sweet 16. Is life unfair or what? Of course, it may not be a problem after all if one of them loses, and I'll know in a few hours as they're both playing today. However, if it should come about, I think I'm going to have to skip watching the game and just hide in a closet somewhere until I know the result....

By the way, I ventured over to the CNNSI website for their expert picks, and 6 out of the 7 expert picks have Penn beating the favorite, Oklahoma State. GO QUAKERS!

2003-03-20T23:13:00.000-05:00

Of Love And Taxes

My tax returns arrived back from the accountant today. The only thing I have to say about them is that its a good thing that marriage includes a lot of benefits (intangible and otherwise) -- because the marriage penalty is very, very real. It's a real enigma to me how the government (especially this administration) extols the virtues of the institution of marriage, and then imposes a monetary penalty on that same institution. Now I happen to think that taxes are actually a very clever psychological tool that the government uses to influence the way society behaves. Save for retirement, pay less taxes. Smoke cigarettes, pay more taxes. It's quite an ingenious system. But the marriage penalty has me scratching my head. Live in sin...keep your money. Tie the knot...shell out the dough.

2003-03-20T16:15:00.000-05:00

It's Been Fourteen Months -- You Can Come Down Off The Ceiling Now

So Wharton announced the Round 2 decisions today. Now, I was a Round 1 acceptee. Last year. (I deferred for a year after getting accepted in January 2002.) So, other than a cursory interest in who my fellow classmates are going to be, I shouldn't have any particular response, emotional or otherwise, to this particular event. After all, I got my acceptance letter 14 months ago. So, why, why, why am I bouncing off the walls trying to focus on my work? I can't deny it -- I'm excited about going to B-school, and every milestone date that passes like this one brings me that much closer to the first day of classes, and consequently, the last day of being a lawyer (well, an active lawyer anyway -- I'm too much of a wuss to give up my bar memberships). It's that, or I drank too much caffeine at lunch.

2003-03-20T12:40:00.000-05:00

Penn, Part Deux

Well, it's only been 9 months but finally my wedding announcement has appeared in the University of Pennsylvania Gazette (Michael Rutner C'96). My buddy Todd (who missed the wedding) wrote the blurb. It's very comforting, in a way, to know that seven years after I graduated from school I still keep in touch with so many Penn people. I am, of course, excited to return to my alma mater, but I am very intent on making sure that my Wharton experience is not Penn, The Sequel. I intend to live in the suburbs (as soon as we sell our NYC apartment and find a place that we like), commute to school, and try to separate this experience from my undergraduate days as much as possible. Don't get me wrong, I loved college. But I want to keep those memories separate and, in a way, sacred, and not intermingle them with different circumstances and current events.

2003-03-20T11:48:00.000-05:00

Meet Me

My first blog! I'm so excited. Lots going on. My little Wharton NYC admits event last night attracted 30-35 people. Pretty successful (other than the bar flooding and them kicking us out at 10:45 pm). I had met most of the attendees before at one of the two prior events that I had organized, and it seems that most are now 95-100% sure that they are going to Wharton in the fall. A lot of the conversation surrounded looking for apartments in Philly. Seems that some people have already signed leases! School dosen't start for 4 1/2 months and I already feel behind the 8-ball! The war apparently started while we were at the event, as suddenly the president appeared on the television screens that were showing the Knicks game. There was no sound though, so we couldn't tell what was going on until we got home.

Oh, its my first blog, so a little about me. My name is Michael. I'm 28 years old, married, and I am a lawyer (right now I'm clerking for a federal bankruptcy judge). But recently I got tired of the whole law thing and applied to and was accepted at the Wharton School, where I will join the MBA Class of 2005 this coming fall. I'm also a singer and cantor-for-hire. I guess I'm the type of person that doesn't mind infusing a lot of change in my life at once. I was married last June, now I'm heading to business school, and who knows what the future will bring?