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September 17, 2002 Lemons, Crackers and Sixteen Miracles For half an hour plus, I stood amidst a crowd of corporate clad pseudo-yuppies (many of whom are good, trusted friends) and wondered, "What the fuck am I doing here?" What's funny is that, in some outwardly manner, I'm an ideal corporate slave. I dress like one, and I act like one. But really though, is that all it takes to deduce one's nature? After two years of collegiate politics, I've called it quits. For the most part. Going to business school, your appearance is half your education. How you act and how you dress matters as much as what you know. More importantly, this forces you to, in some degree, act like who you are not. And that is something I've become good at. So much so, that while standing amidst my colleagues, I suddenly thought to myself, "I could do this. I could do something finance related. Why the hell not? I can rock this joint. I know I can." Goldman Sachs or not, I think I'm very easily tempted to prove to both myself and others that I can do things that I don't want to do. Maybe that's the great irony of the state. Once you let the treadmill go faster and faster, you can't get off. You just run faster and faster until you beat the machine. Food, finance and murder. Seems like that's what's on tap. « Kind of Like Destiny, But Not Really | Eighty Random Interests (or A Crash Course in Rahat) » | |||