Recently, I read an article that centered on a Harvard professor’s anger after a recent grad whom he taught (Jared Kushner, the son of realllly powerful real estate developer) went out and bought the New York Observer — and then slashed the paychecks of the Observer’s freelancers, one of whom was the Harvard professor himself. The professor was pissed that Kushner, who most likely gave him attitude in the classroom, had the money and the audacity to do something that monumental, while the professor was making around $15,500 a year.

“When intellectuals act as clerks and students act as clients, how do college teachers differ from corporate accountants?” the professor angrily writes. “…the sedulous banality of the rich degrades teaching into a service-class preoccupation whose chief duty is preparing clients for monied careers.”

Big words (I mean, he teaches at Harvard. I think it’s a prerequisite), but what the guy is basically saying that rich students make him feel like he’s not doing anything except helping them learn how to grow up and screw the little guys. Rich kids make this guy feel like he’s nothing more than a stepping stone toward big conglomerate world domination.

He’s sort of got a point, but it’s a moot one, because…I mean…duh.

A lot of insanely rich kids grow up believing most of the human race is there to serve them. I attended undergrad at a private liberal arts college where Gucci purses and Prada shoes were perfectly in place at 8:30 in the morning, and you better believe there were some kids with major attitude in class. A degree was something they simply had to tolerate before Daddy or Mommy or Uncle Dearest would set them up in some prime position at whatever giant company their family owned. Read More »

I was awakened at 6 AM by construction after the first night in my new apartment. I’m not much of a morning person until I’ve had about two cups of coffee (and the coffee maker has yet to be purchased), so needless to say I was a little disgruntled and unable to fall back asleep. At about seven thirty, post-shower, post-throwing together work attire, I decided to heave open my window and let some sunshine in, hoping it would counter the effects of my sleepless morning. As I looked down to the patio below my window, I saw him.

And he was beautiful. Button down, surely the bottom half of a suit, standing up from finishing his coffee on his patio. And looking up at me…

Looking up at me. So I sort of eeped and stepped back from my window. Sadly, I wasn’t quite at my most beautiful point of the day.

What a predicament. Beautiful man living right below me, single per the landlord’s description, early riser who likes sunshine and fresh air with his breakfast. And the patio element… I need to befriend him, for the summer at the very least. Backyard-ish space in the city is prime real estate, you have to capitalize on it. Read More »

I Love New York.

No, I am not talking about the VH1 show, or the person (really, who is named New York?), but rather, I love New York City. The diversity, the nightlife, the arts, the shopping- NYC is the ideal city… if you’re crapping out money, that is.

A cozy apartment, dinners at the trendiest restaurants and of course, as many Manolo’s and Jimmy Choo’s that will fit into my apartment. If that was life as a journalist for Carrie Bradshaw, then surely, my life couldn’t be much different. My biggest challenge would obviously be learning how to run down 5th avenue in heels or pull off that black bra/white shirt combo that she made look so effortlessly cool.

Just when I was about to boycott Sarah Jessica Parker for giving me false hopes, Urban Hostess looks like it can make my dream a reality. Read More »