September 21, 2008

Window Seats, Shocking Feats

Apologies, dear readers, for my extended absence from the wonderful world of worthless blogging. Between the loathsome task of moving (which I alluded to earlier), the soul-crushing work associated with legal journal membership, and the angst-inducing experience of on-campus interviewing (of which, more later), I have hardly found the time to sleep or eat, let alone spew incoherent vitriol for the disaffected readership of this most meaningless of blogs. Rest assured, however, that my three-week hiatus does not mark the end of the venerable Realm, merely a brief respite from the pursuit of nothingness that continues to serve as its purpose.

It is hard to believe that it has been four years since I last went through the (often painful) recruiting process as a senior at Cal. And though the setup may be the same—20 minutes on-campus, half-day second round—just about everything else is vastly different, not the least of which is me.

On my flight into New York, N.Y., tonight, I was seated at a window seat, something that has not happened in probably the last decade. (As you might suspect, I prefer the aisle so as to get out of the plane faster and encounter less delay from slow-moving morons.) It took me back to my childhood, seated at the window (always the window!) on long international flights, staring out at all the happenings on the ground as the plane got set to leave or arrive.

This was a simpler time. A time before I knew that time was money, or that greed was good, or that slow-moving fatties were the bane of my existence. I used to be so excited about all the various machinations on the ground: the elevated conveyor belt; the small tractor hooked up to a series of baggage carts; the vehicle that is used to push the airplane back from the gate; and the dudes with the glowing sticks directing traffic. Indeed, had I had my choice back then, I would have chosen a job on the airport tarmac in a heartbeat. At least it cannot be said that I was born an elitist.

Of course, that was two decades ago. A lot has changed since then. The particularly poignant irony of the situation hit me much later, as the plane was touching down at LaGuardia. Here I was reminiscing about a time when I wanted to work at an airport when the only reason I had that window seat in the first place was because I was going to interview at a law firm.

What happened in those twenty years (besides two degrees and a third pending one)? When did I trade in my small-town values for this (Hyde Park) lib'rul, elitist, out-of-touch personality that I exude today? When did being a corporate litigator replace the goal of being an airport employee? Maybe if all this ivory tower shit had not happened, I too could be clinging to my guns and religion like all them other good folks in small towns across the country. You know—real 'Mericans.

Then again, if I was working at an airport some place, there would likely be no Realm, and then where would you be, dear readers? Angst-free and happy, no doubt, and who could possibly want something that awful? I would not wish it on my worst enemy.