Yet another week has droned by for this werewolf in exile. Beyond the standard routine of job hunting, cover letter writing, networking, task list execution, and for the sake of stability and sanity, daily gym trips, the werewolf has a few semi-note worthy things to share.
There is a woman who bears an eerie resemblance to Helen Hunt at his gym. She's always on the same treadmill. If it is her, the last few years haven't been kind. Not from a horizontal perspective, it's just the woman's face has huge bags under the eyes. As Good as It Gets is still one of the werewolf's favorite films.
The werewolf has applied to four distinct opportunities in the energy, extractive mining, and steel industries. He hopes for at least one call-back.
An old flame turned nemesis emailed the werewolf out of the blue bitching about the tobacco industry. It caught the werewolf flat-pawed. He doesn't like being unnerved. She still lacks a sense of humor.
While on a recent visit into NYC, the werewolf discovered something new, the Black Shack: A Burger Joint. Few things excite the werewolf as much as unapologetic greasy burger joints. The Black Shack satisfies. The joint is sparse; service is attentive and quick; the burger is meaty, filling, and cheap; and the fries are crispy and salty. He'll go back. The werewolf actually met the owners while they were pouring over their spread sheets and talking market strategy one booth over. They seemed like nice and driven entrepreneurs. One of them claimed a USC MBA.
While enjoying drinks at a bar with his brother and a good friend, the trio engaged in a brief but fascinating conversation about what foreign accent on a female is the most seductive. The werewolf's brother, the Shark, voted for an Australian accent. The werewolf recalls his friend, Patrick Bateman, suggesting a preference for a Teutonic accent. The werewolf is highly predictable. He goes bananas for ladies with either an Anglo or Afrikaans accent from South Africa. They command a very high premium in the werewolf's valuation book.
The werewolf crossed paths with a dear friend from business school who will be completing his JD/MBA this May. Smart guy. He hates the law and has vowed never to practice it. He's looking for a finance job in NYC. Easier said than done. The werewolf and his friend commiserated about an exceedingly debaucherous New Orleans bachelor they both attended in late March of 2009. Few things make for male bonding like recalling shared memories of improbable and grotesque mischief.
It has been colder than an icicle on a polar bear's ding dong this past week. In a fitting twist of fate, the Saabstory's air conditioning died. At least it has heated seats.
As this week ends, the werewolf begins the next week with the hopes of something to liberate him from exile. Here's to something better.
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