Ladies, we gotta talk.

Now look, I adore the fairer sex. I think you gals are aces, and life sure would be dull without ya, for better or worse. Despite the hell that some of you have put me through over the years, I bear no grudges. For serious.

Moreover, I'm a modern sorta gent, and I believe in equality amongst the sexes. So I'm all for you X-chromosome types goin' out there and gettin' corporate. Lord knows enough of the world has been destroyed by ignorant, greedy white men that we could probably use some capable, intelligent females in power to counteract such stupidity on our part.

However… something happens to some o' you ladies when you don that business garb and get a position with just the slightest shred of power. It's the type of transformation that I don't think even Robert Louis Stevenson could've envisioned when penning Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

I'm not one to throw around the term alpha bitch, but dang, there are some women out there who that phrase most definitely applies to in the workplace.

Guys, get over here with me, come sit by the campfire and let's roast some goddamn S'Mores, I think this is one topic that we can all agree on. Doesn't matter what sect of the male species you fall into… stud, nerd, playa, nice guy, scumbag, manwhore, whatever. Every red-blooded heterosexual male will agree with me on this post.

Heck, there are even some females that will agree with me on this. My mother has worked in HR for 18 years, and has stated on numerous occasions that she would rather work with men than women, because too many women just get obscenely power-hungry when it comes to titular advancements and authority.

Not to get all 5th grade on ya, but my mom thinks I'm right. She also tells me I'm cool. And if Penny says so, then by God, it must be factual!

But I think even outside the scope of HR, anyone out there that works in any sort of professional environment will have to concede on this one… I've seen it a great deal over the last year and change I've been at my job. When my new boss got transferred over to our division, she immediately clashed with my then-program manager. It wasn't so much like oil and water as it was like wicks and sparks… downright volatile. Within 6 months, my program manager was essentially ousted. About a month later, the only other female on our team transferred to another team. Since then, our group has been all dudes with the exception of the boss lady. For the most part, we's cool, but like every boss, once in a while she manages to get on your nerves. Just how it goes.

But she is not the impetus for this post. No, true believer, much to the contrary, this was prompted by one of my coworkers… well, two actually, but one seems more an accessory and the other the instigator. Although it may be uncharacteristic, I am reluctant to divulge any details about either individual. Far be it from me to ever hold back, especially when it comes to those whose ego cups runneth over, but lets just say that I'm subscribing to the old "discretion is the better part of valor" motto.

So this is basically the breakdown: a couple weeks ago, one of my coworkers arranged a lunch with one of our regular vendors as an outing and break from the monotony of the day to day grind. Two of my other coworkers were not invited to the affair, simply because they almost never say yes to anything of the sort. So it was more of a logistical thing than anything else. I probably would have invited them anyway, but that's me. I'm not the one planning, I'm just happy to be here, ya dig?

Word got back to one of the ignored individuals, who just happens to be of the female persuasion. Immediately, she began grilling someone who works under her, asking if we talked about her at all during the meal.

Come again?

That's right. I shit you not, dear reader. She wanted to know if anyone was talking about her or the other uninvited party during our outing. Well… no! Why would we have any reason to? Just because you don’t get the in doesn't necessarily mean you're the hot topic of conversation. There was just so much ego involved, I was on the verge of wretching.

She then lamented (translation: whined) that she felt the snub was incredibly "unprofessional." The ultiamte irony of this situation is the fact that these lunches are a very covert operation that we are really not supposed to engage in… so her absence from the affair is actually a shimmering act of professionalism on her part. But nay. Nay, I say. Not in the eyes of ye green-eyed she-demon in 5" heels. To her, there is a free lunch, she was left out, and come hell or high water, she will make it known.

Then to boot, she threatens to withhold business from the vendor who hosted the affair. Well, how professional of her. Nothing like sacrificing good business at the expense of your own petty vendetta. I love it. The capper to it all (at the time) was the fact that she engaged her aforementioned associate in an e-mail exchange in which she finally ended the conversation with (and I'm quoting verbatim, mind you), "Whatever, I don't want to talk about it anymore. They can all go to hell for all I care."

Mature.

But wait, it does get better. She then took to the oh-so "professional" habit of scowling, sneering and just looking plain disgusted when passing the folks that organized the affair.

Also mature. And reasonable, too.

I won't get into the ugly details that followed (the e-mail war between her and another co-worker, the correspondence that was passed around to other folks in the division and our sister division, the horrid picture from her college days that was retrieved with a quick Google search, etc.), but needless to say she has not earned many friends, and has essentially isolated herself from most everyone in the company.

What's my point? My point is simply this would not have happened with a guy. The average dude would abide and not let this become some over the top 90210-stylized high school drama. His attitude would've been, "If they don't like me, screw 'em," and that's it. There would've been no little e-mail fracas, no dirty looks in the hall, no unnecessary 'tude, none of the above, mon frere.

Reason being? Most guys don't get off on power trips.

Yeah. I said it. Take it for what you will, accuse me of stereotyping, but I'm telling ya, my experiences with some women in the business world are akin to my experiences with some women in the dating world: ugly, painful, and oftentimes gut-wrenching. What is it about a title that gives you ladies such an inflated opinion of yourself? What is it about authority that makes you believe you have the right to talk down to and demean other human beings? Is it a chemical imbalance of some sort? Is it the overwhelming urge to break out of the 1950's Donna Reed mold that so inaccurately portrayed your finest capabilities? Is it the years of existing in a predominantly patriarchal society?

If is the latter, let me say on behalf of men everywhere, we're sorry! If we had any idea the way you'd react, we never would've made those decisions at the meeting! Please back off, we made a mistake!

Seriously, gals, y'all need to chill out. This individual in question is the same one who is dumping a week's worth of work on her associate while she's away rather than working to get ahead of herself before leaving (like most of us do). I'm not saying she's an accurate sample of the population by any means, but this sort of self-opinion seems to be typical of a lot of my experiences in the workplace, from waiting tables right on up to the executive post… never had a problem with another guy, though… even the ones who preferred to wear high heels themselves.

Look, let's make a pact… we'll put the toilet seat down and cook dinner once in a while, and you spare us the dragonfire when cubicles ajoin. I think it's a fair trade.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

So last night at the gym, I couldn't help that the eyes of many cardio-heads were glued to the flatscreen monitors in front of them, airing David Blaine's latest inane stunt on ABC.

Let me set the record straight: I don't care about David Blaine. But I've come to three rock solid conclusions about the man.

1 – He is not a magician. He's not even an illusionist, for Pete's sake. The scenarios he cooks up are out there, I grant you… but there's no hint of "magic" in them at all. Look, if it were Harry Houdini cooped up in that oversize snow globe, he would've amazed the audience by pulling one of his trademark nigh-impossible escape routines. That was the beauty of his shtick… it came off as a sort of magic even without card tricks or optical illusions. Blaine just cooks up zany ways to destroy his body stunt by stunt. That's not magic, that's stupidity.

2 – This is not entertainment. I've read some quotes by people who have stated that his exploits are representative of the human spirit and it's resilient, oftentimes unbreakable nature. I beg to differ. I hardly find a man's repeated attempts to kill himself humorous in any way… I find it sad. The only thing I find sadder is the infatuation that people have with this guy. Sure, I know there's no doubt that he's going to draw attention to himself like the class clown… the only difference is that he's moved up from whoopee cushions to feeding tubes. Pardon me if I don't feel inclined to give the baby his bottle on this one.

3 – The man is a masochist. Seriously, why does he do this over and over? Is fame really worth that much damage to your body? How many people do you know who wake up in the morning and think, "Gee, what could I possibly do to damage my liver this week?" This might be the most disturbing thing about his popularity to me… the mere fact that everything he does seems to find him in the hospital for a number of weeks following the spectacle. Not only that, but the lengthy amounts of time he spends involved in these bizarre concoctions severely prolongs the pain he inflicts on himself. I'm truly convinced that the man just has no love for himself and genuinely wants to do extreme harm to his being.

Either that or he'll do anything for a buck. I haven't quite decided. So, taking these three items into account, the question begs to be asked… People, why in the name of God are you paying any attention to this genetic defective?

This goes beyond dumbass reality shows that are phonier than a politician's smile. There are people out there cheering a man who is trying to kill himself. There is something seriously wrong with the human race when this sort of demented tomfoolery could ever be regarded as entertainment.

Maybe it's me, but I really don't think we should be encouraging him like this... unless he finally manages to off himself, then I'm all for it. The less of this rot on TV and in the public eye, the better. Why can't more "celebrities" have death wishes?

I just might have this cat figured out all wrong… Shit, I hope he becomes an inspiration to self-loathing public figures everywhere!

Natural selection, people. I'm justified here.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

So Mission: Impossible III is upon us. Be still, my heart.

Hey, sorry… I just don't like too much John Woo in my diet. I prefer, y'know, plotlines and the like.

In any event, what's captured my interest about this undeniable cinematic stinkbomb isn't the fact that they made a sequel to M:I2. I pretty much learned that after they made a sequel to the first installment that they'll spin anything off for a few dollars more. No, what has grasped my attention is the fact that the antagonist is portrayed by Academy Award Winner Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Rewind and read the last eleven words in that paragraph.

Hoffman has been doing an amazing job as the requisite character/supporting actor for-freakin'-ever now. Didn't matter whether he was in Cold Mountain or Almost Famous, whatever film we're talkin' about was immediately improved tenfold just by virtue of his presence and performance as soon as his unmistakable mug was featured on the screen. The guy knows his stuff and it shows.

But now, having won an Oscar for Capote (which I have yet to see but am looking forward to tremendously), he's reduced to your standard issue action film bad guy cliché, which, incidentally, no one has been able to duplicate since Alan Rickman was featured in Die Hard. Period.

On the opposite end of the genre spectrum, but similarly bad-looking, Robin Williams's latest vehicle RV opened this weekend (see what I did there?). Watching the previews for that makes me dread the day I have children, as I'm sure I'll have to sit through many, many horrible family films, much like I forced my parents to do. And Disney not being what it once was, I'm not looking forward to that day…

It should also be duly noted that Williams is another of those select thespians to receive an Oscar.

So is Robert De Niro. Didn't stop him from making Showtime.

Jodie Foster has an Oscar under her belt. But she still made Flightplan.

I won't even get into Jon Voigt's career.

At this rate, I'm waiting for Meryl Streep to catch top billing in Breakin' 3. The Oscar has long been touted as the highest honor in cinema… yet at the same time, it has also proven to be something of a kiss of death for said honorees. I can't for the life of me figure out what it is about that much-coveted Oscar that drives so many people to accept such horrible roles.
I'm sure a lot of it has to do with the individual, no question. Some people (especially celebrities) exercise less discretion when planning their career moves than most. That being said, I have to give Cali credit for having the best drugs available, because that's the only reason I can think of Susan Sarandon having anything to do with Elizabethtown. I have to say that when it comes to mass mediart, we are in a major lull, here, people. I'm dead serious. I think contemporary film, music and television, by normal standards, is not only disappointing, but downright repulsive.

I think a recent text message courtesy of my buddy Vas, intended solely to break up the day and catch a laugh, says it all:

"There's motherfuckin' snakes on the motherfuckin' plane!"

They made a horror move about snakes on planes. It doesn't get much better/worse than that, ladies and gentlemen. We are officially an honest-to-goodness teenage wasteland awash in our own fecal matter and bile, because we pay to see this rot. And when we don't shell out the $8.50 in the theaters, we gladly head over to the local Blockbuster for a lazy Friday rental. One way or another, every movie, no matter how bad, is gonna make money somehow.

White Chicks made money. Think it over.

Now I realize that you have to work yourself up the ladder no matter what your path in life. Even Renee Zellweger was brandishing those Oscar-worthy chops in Texas Chainsaw Massacre 3, and nominee Jake Gyllenhaal was Bubble Boy long before even Donnie Darko opened the door for him to break out the cowboy hat and spurs.
But when you reach the top and retrograde as bad as some of the films that I've mentioned in prior paragraphs, I personally feel it's time to reexamine your career path or just exit gracefully altogether. Personally, I don't think I'd be able to degrade myself like that, no matter how much debt I'm in.

There's such a fine line between artist and whore, isn't there?

Now I understand that for some, there comes but one highwater mark in life; one opus that stands apart from everything else, and you're left with nowhere to go but down (for reference, see: Appetite For Destruction).

(See also: Alexander, Jason, Louis-Dreyfuss, Julia and Richards, Michael.)

Well, maybe it's me, but I feel that once you reach that pinnacle of artistry, the very least you could do is stick to it and try to make sure that your work is of a similar caliber if not superior to all things prior. But paychecks talk and critics balk, so at the end of the day, I'm sure plenty of these acting types are just thinking about their next car, jet or private estate, isn't that right, Mr. Jamie Foxx, Academy Award-winning star of Stealth?

It's the same reason that Kiss has been on tour forever. Because there's big money in it. It's too bad the music sucks.

Much like the scripts.

And the motherfuckin' snakes on the motherfuckin' plane.

Now if they decide to take Academy Award-winner Jon Voigt and Academy Award-winner Jamie Foxx and make those snakes anacondas and that plane a stealth bomber with a mind of its own… Now you're talkin' quality entertainment.

Just don't bill it as cinema, 'kay?

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

So in my travels last weekend to the ever-glorious metropolis known as Chicago (now officially one of my favorite cities anywhere), I couldn't help but notice in the various newsstands and bookstores in Bradley, Pitt and O'Hare that Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code has finally been released in paperback with just about a month to go before the movie drops.

I think it's pretty safe to say I'm a reader, and if you've read this sucker for any discernible length of time you'd know this. That being said, I have somewhat mixed feelings about this phenomenon. For that matter, I have mixed feelings about any literary phenomenon, save maybe the Harry Potter books as they've proven to be a major source of inspiration for the young'ns to start reading. There's nothin' wrong with that, as I certainly don't think I wouldn't be delving into Vonnegut and Auster were it not for being weaned on the likes of Dr. Seuss and the Berenstain Bears series growing up (all of which my mother was thoughtful enough to hang onto for my eventual offspring, bless her soul).

But I think with any other sort of mainstream book becoming "the next big thing," there's a sort of misleading nature about the whole ordeal as these books are rarely the true crème de la crème, so to speak.

First off, let me offer the following disclaimer: I have not yet read Da Vinci. I had waited a near eternity for the blasted thing to be released in paperback as I find the cost of hardcover books to be outrageous. Leave it to the marketing geniuses at whatever publisher released the sucker to wait until the release of the film was in sight to do so, just to give sales and interest that one last spike before the opening box office weekend.

Then again, having an MBA in marketing, I shoulda guessed this'd be the case, so shame on me.

But in any event, I finally bought a paperback and Da Vinci and I'm only about 100 pages into it. I want to read it before the movie hits, because as we know, the film rarely trumps the book, plain and simple. In preparation, I flew through the famed prequel Angels & Demons in under a month's time. For what it's worth, I enjoyed it. I think Brown is very talented at researching his topics and managing to interlock history, fiction and conspiracy theory. I laud him for it.

However…

Herein lay the trouble with so-called literary phenomena and the like… while the story may be engrossing and enjoyable, at the end of the day, I don't find myself harkening back to it at any real point in time. That is to say, I fail to see what the underlying themes are, other than a really cool thriller peppered with heavy doses of imagery, actual fact and clever execution. Now for most, that may all be fine and dandy.

Clearly I'm not most.

(For no other reason other than the fact I couldn't find a better place to fit it, I offer a brief parenthetical aside/critique regarding Da Vinci based on what I've read thus far… I will try to keep it as spoiler-free as possible. What I've noticed about it more than anything else is that it's basically a carbon copy of Angels & Demons; only the names have been changed to protect the guilty. Bizarre murder gives way to a major crisis sparked by an antagonistic clandestine society, and intellectual everyman Robert Langdon must team up with an attractive female counterpart who is seemingly has more balls than he does. A combination of religion and conspiracy drive the story to unravel startling revelations that stand to rattle the very foundation of the Catholic Church. I'm pretty confident that by the end of Da Vinci, I'll feel the same way I did after watching Escape From L.A.: "I liked this better the first time around… y'know, when it was called Escape From New York. We now return you to your regularly scheduled diatribe…)

Now maybe it comes from a long history of reading comic books and watching old school sci-fi, but I always try to look for central themes and undercurrents to any story regardless of the medium. This also comes in large part due to the education I received under Douglas Glover, Kathryn Davis and Steven Millhauser at Skidmore. If you haven't heard of them I can't say I'm hugely surprised. Not a one of them is a New York Times bestseller list mainstay, and despite incredible critical acclaim (including the 1996 Pulitzer for fiction awarded to Millhauser for Martin Dressler), it's quite clear that none of them will ever "push units" like a Dan Brown, Stephen King, Danielle Steele, etc., etc., ad nauseum.

In fact, with the exception of Millhauser, I have yet to find either Glover or Davis's published works in any major bookstore chain.

I think what I'm getting at is the notion that literary booms focusing on one book should not be taken as representatives of the entire literary population at that given point in time. Maybe it can be compared to huge blockbuster films being all the rage when it's more than likely the small change indie films getting all the praise. I don't know, it's kinda difficult to classify. There's just something about me that feels this sorta hype is misleading in a way.

There's also the fact that said hype typically gives way to massive marketing and crossover into every medium imaginable. The example I offer is an oldie, but a goodie: Jurassic Park.

I remember being about 11 years old when the book was booming big time. I recall clear as a bell walking through the old Naugatuck Valley Mall (how's that for a flashback for all you native Waterbury folk?) and seeing a huge promotional display for Jurassic Park, well before the film came out. Shoot, this was well before I even knew a film was in the works. All I knew was that this book had a tyrannosaurus skeleton on the cover, and being a major dinosaur fanatic from the time I was about 5 years old, I was curious to say the least. Ultimately, I received the book from a cousin and read through the entire thing in a couple weeks. Again, this is still well before the film came out.

Being only 11 at the time I read it, I think I viewed it as everyone else did: a wicked cool story involving raptors. I doubt I could've grasped Michael Crichton's underlying "Frankenstein" theme of man playing God with science and genetics at that age. Turns out he was about he was nearly a decade ahead of his time when it came to the ethical issues of genetic cloning. But still, I was very taken with the story, and naturally went to see the flick when it was released in that memorable summer of nineteen-naughty-three.

By now, I was 12. Still young, but even I was able to figure out that they couldn't possibly fit everything from the book into a two-hour time span. What I don't think I could have prepared myself for was the blitzkrieg of marketing marvels that was to follow: toys, games, apparel, books, tampons, etc. Anything that a price tag could be placed on had the Jurassic logo on it.

As if the initial homerun wasn't enough, a sequel wasn't only expected, why it was downright mandatory, I say! Enter 1997 and Crichton's half-baked The Lost World. This time around, all themes of chaos and science gone berserk went out the window in grand Hollywood fashion. Even the title of the book was a direct tip of the hat to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's classic silent film which first exposed dinosaurs to the movie-going masses. In short, whereas the first book was just a book that hit big, the second installment was essentially a blueprint for the movie. And not only was the book a far cry from its literary predecessor, the film was a far cry from the book it was based on, making for one really, really atrocious blockbuster. Mission: Impossible III looks like freakin' Scorcese next to this dud. I won't even begin to go into the third film, which Crichton wasn't even attached to. Apparently a fourth film is in the works. Nothing like milking a cow until it's dead and its udders are spewing dust.

Not only was the sucker a major hit, but it seemed like any book Crichton wrote was bound for the silver screen from that point forward. After two prior film ventures in the 70's (The Andromeda Strain and The Great Train Robbery), anything the man wrote went to the big screen in the 90's. Congo, Sphere, even the post-JP penned Timeline all made it to theaters, all of which really, really sucked.

I guess what I'm getting at is that there's a snowball effect when this sorta thing happens, and commercialism totally overtakes whatever relevant artistic or intellectual value is inherent within the book to begin with. Now I grant you that dinosaurs are a far more marketable commodity as opposed to religious conspiracies, so you probably won't be seeing action figures bearing the likeness of Tom Hanks any time soon. Even so, you'd better believe that there will likely be a third book in the life of Robert Langdon, and at least one more flick. If you think the film is gonna bomb, I fear you're way, way outta touch, dear reader. The money is there, and it will probably be the easiest work of Dan Brown's life, because at this point in time, he could basically wipe himself on a sheet of Charmin, and that would go straight to the top of the bestseller list.

Meanwhile, the thing that bothers me the most is that there are infinitely better books languishing in limbo right now that are probably being overlooked by the general populous. Now granted, one could always argue that exposure to such fanaticism could offer a sort of floodgate effect and create scores of readers from whence there were none. Lord knows I didn't start flipping pages incessantly until I was introduced to Crichton's work. However, it wasn't until I read Slaughterhouse 5 and The New York Trilogy for a class in postmodern literature that my tastes really transformed and I adopted the style of writing that I employ now. Prior to that, my literary world was limited to Crichton and Dean Koontz. Again, stuff simply tailor-made for Tinsel Town.

Now that's not to say that Dan Brown's work is bad by any stretch. As I've said, he's certainly very well read in religious and iconographic history and has been able to parlay that knowledge into something really huge. More power to him, I wish I could do the same thing. And I think we can all agree that personal taste is a purely subjective thing and no two people will entirely mesh with their personal preferences. If nothing else, I'm glad that people are actually reading the dang thing as opposed to "just waiting for the movie." There's no term I loathe more than that. But at the same time, I just can't help but feel that no matter what, the bottom line is that a lot of misconceptions may be drawn about the literary world because of the hype here. Like a lotta people say, they're reading this book only because of the buzz. Shoot, that's why I'm reading it, only because it's become such a pop culture cornerstone for the new millennium that I would be remiss if I didn't at least become casually familiar with it.

I guess there's just something about me that cringes when I realize the guy has sold more copies than The Great Gatsby or Fahrenheit 451.

And lastly, to anyone that is just waiting for the movie, I hope you realize that A) the paperback is cheaper than your ticket, and B) it lasts a helluva lot longer. You go munch on your popcorn; I'm gonna chill in the coffee shop. Thank you for leaving.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

I think it’s high time that I unleashed an Yngwie Malmsteen-esque fury on a particular sect of academic luminaries who seem to hold themselves in too high an esteem for my liking. It gives me great pleasure to burst their self-righteous little bubble and fill them in on a couple of truths that they are long overdue on learning.

Ivy leaguers. Sit down. You an’ me are gonna have a li’l talk…

See, my company has this bad habit of hiring Ivy League grads and putting them in quasi-middle management positions. They do all the legwork of a regular assistant like myself, but have a bit more hand in the developmental process.

Whatever. This is me not losing any fuckin’ sleep over it.

Now, within the last month, two assistant managers have parted ways with the company. One of these individuals happened to be my boss. If you want a glimpse into the relationship I had with her, see the above paragraph. It pretty much sums up my feelings regarding her departure.

In any event, it did not take long for the interoffice grapevine to circulate, completely nabbing my nuts in a vice grip in the process. See, a couple of the Ivies began to wonder who I’d wind up working under. As in which one of them was gonna be my new boss.

It should be duly noted at this point that I actually have been there longer than all of them, and while I may technically be the low man on the totem, I still have seniority over them. In my mind’s eye, that makes me no one’s bitch.

And it’d appear that my company agrees as I’m basically working under the program manager right now. In short, we just cut out the middleman on this one, and I couldn’t be happier with my current role.

That said, I’m more than a little indignant that some of these Ivy motherfuckers thought they had the right to claim me as their assistant… like I’m just some human baseball card available to be traded around for a Ted Williams rookie in mint condition. What makes me even more irritated is the fact that when the second assistant manager in our division announced her departure today, the same old song and dance ensued, only this time regarding her own assistant. Who again has been here longer than the rest of the damned Ivies.

Now to be fair, I’m only talking about roughly 75 percent of the Ivy grads in my division. I’m cool with some of them, and know they would never condescend to me or my coworker behind my back like that. Hell, at least one of them, a Yale alum, has the goddamn good sense to remember that when he was fresh out the box and green as Ariel Sharon must be right now, he would typically come to me for help and I’d offer him whatever info I could. He hasn’t forgotten that, which is why he didn’t get caught up in such nonsensical gossip.

The others clearly haven’t followed suit.

Not only that, but they’re getting their wish. My co-worker has not been as fortunate as I, and has gone from having one boss to three “bosses.” Known amongst the office as the Sorority (or as I prefer to call them, the Ya-Ya Sisterhood), they are each taking equal share in overseeing my co-worker’s programs, and to boot, they are pretty much letting it be known that they now have more authoritah.

Having not made it to an associate level yet, I would like to think that should I ever get an assistant, I would never walk all over them or rub my title in their eye. I don’t know that their combined attitude is intentional, but at the same time, even it weren’t, I refuse to believe such inconsideration or lack of discipline would wholly justify their behavior.

And to boot, my company basically bends over backwards for these Ivies. Occasionally they get an ace like my former program manager. Other times they don’t. The term I typically use in regard to a couple of these Ivies is “I weep for the future.” And I do, because if employers are willing to pay top dollar for names and not ability, then we really are in the fuckin’ Twilight Zone, people.

‘Cause that’s basically what you pay for with an Ivy League school. A name. It’s brand equity and not necessarily education that’s gonna carry you if you get accepted. Plain and simple. And it’s a known fact that if two individuals, one an Ivy, the other not, with equal qualifications, experience and ability apply for the same position, the Ivy will get it. The other sap doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell, because on paper, an Ivy looks more impressive.

I’d like to offer the notion that despite impressive credentials, not every Ivy is worth the investment. I’m willing to wager that a good number of them might be book-smart, but not have an ounce of street smarts to their name. The latter can go just as far as a degree when you get right down to it.

Put it this way… one Ivy, a Harvard alum, marveled at the fact that our fax machine can send more than one page at a time. I’m seriously not making this up. I couldn’t if I wanted to. I felt like I was watching Legally Blonde 3: Not As Good As Advertised. I wanted to vomit in my hat and then make her wear it… How does someone conjure up that sentence in their head and then actually have the lack of good judgment to spit it out? For that matter, how does one such individual get accepted into what is supposed to be one of the most prestigious schools in the world?

Said prodigy later went on to state that she believed herself to be smarter than many of her co-workers. On paper it may appear that way, but if you were to meet this girl, you’d think she were straight outta the escort section of the Yellow Pages with an IQ to match.

I refuse to believe these people are smarter than me or my fellow grunts.

All the money in the world isn’t gonna change the fact that they are still human, hence imperfect, and therefore have no frickin’ right to place themselves on a higher rung than anyone else.

Again, I realize there are exceptions to every rule. Tragically, I just don’t happen to work with many of them. What’s worse, they are giving a bad name to their alma maters. If they’re any indication of the byproduct of such institutions, I’ll gladly squander my unborn children’s college fund on red wine and He-Man box sets.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna drive to Greenwich to christen a yacht. With kerosene and a blowtorch. Hopefully that’ll put a good dent in mummy and daddy’s college fund and I won’t have to deal with their pampered nimrod asshat of a child in my workspace wondering when I’m gonna start working for their 21-year-old green ass.

Goodnight, and have an enlightened tomorrow.