Foleydog's blog

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Why I should stop reading the NYT

See the following link: NYT Blog on High Law Firm Salaries

Read the comments.

My comment.

Have you checked the race of these high paid associates.  Many firms have now moved to a two tier system -- hiring the whitest for these salaries -- while having a back room of black and brown law school graduates working for one-half to one-third the pay doing endless docuemnt review.  But since they too have the high law school debt -- what's a minority to do?

Public service -- puh-leeze!  $30 - $40K with over $100K in non dischargeable debt -- you do the math.

But of course journalism must be sensationalist to get readers, I guess.

Cheap Eats in the Valley

On the one hand, there's Providence with its devine $65 a plate truffle risotto. 

When I'm going a little downscale, I like to try cheap food in the Valley.  One new find this weekend is a new restaurant, Pupuseria del Valle at 431 S. Victory Blvd., in Burbank.  The owners (a brother and sister) have only been in operation a few months, but grew up with a restaurant background from El Salvador.  If you like a good pupusa -- it is definately the way to go.  Light, but delicious, and only a buck seventy-five each.

Also good this weekend was Pad Thai, and more at Krua Thai at 13130 Sherman Way in Noho.  Dinner for two was about 6 bucks.  Can't beat it.

Antonio Villaraigosa's Big Idea

Now where did Christopher Arellano get that Big Idea from?

Attorneys need not apply

Today, I was looking at job ads categorized under 'legal' -- and most of the descriptions explicitly say, "Attorneys need not apply."  I'm seeing this is more and more ads for job. 

I guess in this tight economy, attorneys, like myself who were told in law school our degree was an asset, because we could tackle anything are applying for jobs outside their immediate field.

With almost one million lawyers in California and what seems like three jobs, we're branching out.  Unsuccessfully for the most part, I may add.  To increase my chances, I've taken an unprecedented step.

I've finally done it despite years of threats. 

I've taken my law degree off my resume. 

For years, it's been a hindrance.

Two years ago, an executive at Fox looked me directly in the eye during an interview and said, "I hate that attorneys think they can come in here and do our jobs just because they went to law school."

Needless to say, I didn't get a call back from her.

Now, it's deleted.  It's gone.  Like it was never was there -- despite the one hundred thousand dollars plus interest, I'm still struggling to pay off.

I haven't gotten any response to my new lighter resume, but it has to be more positive than my current resume.

Just yesterday, and my millionth job interview in Los Angeles, I spent many minutes assuring my interviewers that even though I didn't take a class in administrative law, and I never worked in finance, that I could grasp the concept of administrative hearings and could read financial documents and other balance sheets.  Those seven years in Ivy League schools must have been worth something, right?

I'm not entirely sure they were convinced, but I found out they hired many more non-attorneys than attorneys.  I may have had a better chance at the job without that J.D. on my resume.

Who knew?

The hatred of lawyers has spilled over into other industries -- and it's not pretty.

Four years ago a friend of mine was hiring folks for her company.  She said when she got resumes from attorneys, she threw them out immediately.  "What do they know about my business?" she asked.  Now this didn't stop her calling me for free advice when she had a legal problem related to that job, but I digress.

My response?  "What could I know about your business?" and a shrug.

Now that Cornell Law School  has gone by the wayside -- maybe I can save myself from the round file.

Only time will tell.

The Permanent Racial Divide

I rarely read a work of fiction or non-fiction that transforms my perception of life.  Last week, I read that book: Thomas Shapiro's The Hidden Cost of Being African-American.

Though, this was not likely his intent, it shows that absent some sort of catalyst, there will never been racial parity, integration, or class equality in the United States.

Looking at the use of transformative assets, which lift many whites beyond their earning capacity, the tipping point of integration for most whites, and the costs associated with being African-American and segregated, Shapiro convincingly explains the divide between most Americans.

Erin Aubry Kaplan, a black columnist for the Los Angeles Times, could well benefit from the reading of this book.  In her February 15th column, Fear Takes Flight, Kaplan is dismayed that her black, middle-class neighbor is moving from the Century Heights section of Inglewood to -- anyplace else.

I learned the hard way that living in a black neighborhood can cost you.  When selling our remodeled West Adams home, which had been such a bargain, there were few takers. 

Sure, a few white families looked at our home, but none were willing to take the plunge and spend almost eight hundred thousand dollars on a house in a black neighborhood. 

The first clue that this would happen was when I would visit open houses in our neighborhood and the groups of people visiting the homes were smaller and smaller numbers of well-heeled blacks as the prices spiraled upwards.

Yet owning that home, may have cost me hundreds of thousands of dollars in 'appreciation.'  Many of my visiting acquaintances, after overcoming their irrational fear of being shot in a random drive by, would comment -- "Oh, what a lovely home.  If this were in any other neighborhood, it would be worth millions of dollars."

And if you follow Shapiro's well documented evidence.  It's true.  Lost equity, is just one of the costs of being African-American.  Aubry Kaplan's neighbor has just realized that -- and is taking action.

Bottom line, this book has saved me months, if not years of hand wringing.  The reasons for segregation and failing urban schools have been a mystery for me.  If, supposedly, the minds of whites have changed, then why were separation and unequal schools so pervasive, I pondered?

The answer can be summed up, I think, in one insidious code phrase used by too many I know, "It's for the children."

Translation.  "It's for our white, privileged, children -- and if yours suffer -- well, that's America."

The Perils of Foster Care

Because rationalizations made in the criminal justice system drive me crazy.

Old Thoughts

Every so often, I start a blog post and don't finish it.  I save them as drafts -- because I plan to get back to them.

Mostly, I don't finish them because I don't have more than a few sentences to say about a topic or my thoughts on the topic never gel.

Since cleaning up clutter also extends to virtual hard drives -- here are some the my aborted thoughts:

From September 12, 2004:  My best friend is b lack.

Ah, it's a phrase we know well.  Before (or after) someone says or does something discriminatory -- they attempt to deflect by saying their best friend is black.  I never want to be that friend they refer to.

From September 24, 2004: Conspiracy of Silence.

Right before I sold my last house, I found out my neighbors had always known that the people living next door to me were crazy, drug dealing, lunatics.  They somehow thought if they didn't mention it to me -- I wouldn't notice -- though the guys standing out side with guns  - posturing, was a clue.  Fortunately (or unfortunately), when  we sold the house -- they were all standing outside -- playing music from the trunk of their car, and smoking dope -- so the new owners can't say they were uninformed.

From October 20, 2004: Those who know better.

Below is what I wrote when I made the emotional decision to sell my last house, and buy our third house -- the first in a 'white' neighborhood.  To summarize, I grew up believing that the decimation of black neighborhoods was integration.  I strongly believed the abandonment of traditionally black neighborhoods by black professionals had (among other things like poverty and crack cocaine) led to their demise.  I felt profoundly guilty for maximizing my investment in California real estate by leaving West Adams.  That guilt was partially alleviated by a wise friend last year.  She cut to the chase and said I shouldn't worry about those people because they weren't thinking about me.  And she was right.   Here's what I wrote then:

Many people have asked why I would leave my lovely renovated house for the unknown. It's because now, I know better.

When people ask you what you really think, they probably don't want to hear the answer. For once, however, I'm going to write what I really think. In the interest, of self interest, I'll not publish these pieces until I move from West Adams to wherever.

Why did I move here. As anyone who knows me knows, I've always wanted to live in California. To me California represents promise, hope, and who can resist living in a place with vacation like temperatures all year round. When I first came to California at 16, I couldn't believe people were slogging it out on the east coast -- I had west coast dreams.

So when the opportunity came, to move here, I ran, didn't walk, to get here. The first hurdle was looking for a house. I see myself as edgy, hip, cool, so you know I was insulted when family members among others asked, are you going to live in Los Angeles. Yes, of course, I replied, sure that a thinly veiled racial slur had come my way.

Looking for houses in L.A. can be daunting. They're exceedingly expensive and generally in bad shape. My dream was to live in Santa Monica or Westwood, places I had visited on vacation. When I found out that people were paying $500,000 for two bedroom fixers, I was stumped.

So, I decided to look in predominately black neighborhoods -- and after reading an article in the Los Angeles Times, I changed my course. And after looking for a bit, there they were, large homes, on relatively quiet streets. So I bought one.

Yes, I was a 'grandma fixer.' Nothing really had been done, ever. And what had been done was hideous, a fire danger, a water hazard -- you name it. So in the name of fire safety, and qualifying for homeowner's insurance, I fixed it. I fixed the sewer. I fixed the plumbing. I fixed the electricity. I fixed the water damage, the termite damage, etc. I looked at it as an investment.

So, when I got tired of living in a grimy kitchen and with the thirty five year old shag carpet, I fixed it. I looked at it as an investment.

Now, living in the 'city' can get tiring. And with only one life to live, I'm done. I started wondering about my choice when I joined Junior League and the Junior Chamber of Commerce and not one of thousands of members shared my zip code. I looked around as my friends bought homes and condos and no one even considered my area. Then, I started thinking . . . . hmmmm. Sure, everyone said, 'oh, this is such a cute neighborhood.' Sure, they marveled at the large, stately homes. Yet, we were the only ones here.

I started to sense trouble when my neighbors revealed problems they hadn't wanted to share for fear of scaring me away.

So, here I am. Tired of people who have lived here for fifty years who have nothing invested in the neighborhood. Tired of receiving poor services. I'm ready to move on and fortunately I can afford it.

Trouble is, I don't know if it's worth it. Funny, how real estate agents think I can't sell it. It all remains to be seen.

February 28, 2005: Disenfranchised?

When I wrote this, I was pissed because LA County was making voting at my new address extremely difficult.  Needless to say, I worked it out.  Here's what I wrote then:

I'm feeling disenfranchised as we head toward the March 8th Los Angeles mayoral primary election.

For a number of reasons, I have changed my status to that of permanent absentee voter.  Ah, the pleasures of voting at home.

But it looks like, I won't be able to vote in the March 8th election because I can't process a change of address with the Los Angeles County Registrar.

Despite mailing, faxing, and filling out endless forms, they don't want to let me vote in my new district.

April 17, 2005: Shoe Shopping.

Mama needs a new pair of shoes.  Actually, mama and papa needed a new pair of shoes.  So, off to the local mall we went.  I was surprised that Macy's has turned into a store more like Target than the 'upscale' department store I remember, but as always I digress.

The story.  I went shopping for shoes and found that Macy's and other department stores had some seriously archaic shoe commission notions.  In Nordstrom, I had to lie and say no one was helping me to get different people to get me shoes.  Their policy only lets one person help you.  And once that person gets you, no one else will help you.  I didn't buy any shoes there.  More savvy, Adam picked out some shoes at Macy's and we split up and got shoes from a few different folks.  We checked out -- then the salespeople got into a fight over who had helped us first -- and tried to rope us in.  We just wanted shoes, and left them to work it out.

October 19, 2005: Could hear a pin.

Does anyone remember when Sprint's advertising campaign for it's fiber optic long distance service stated, 'you could hear a pin drop?'

I think about this commercial all the time, these days, when I get those awful cell phone calls.  I'm sitting at home, and the phone rings.  I hear static, and possibly nothing at all.  Then the phone rings again, and the caller always says, "Oh I dropped the call."

Then some patchy conversation happens.  Mostly me saying, "What? What!"

Bottom line.  I'm tired of horrible phone conversations from people who refuse to use a land line.

-- So that's it.  I've cleaned out my virtual blog holding pen.

Used Car vs. Mattress

I'd put it off as long as possible.  My back couldn't take it any more.  It was time to get a new mattress.

Now, I don't know which is worse, buying a mattress or buying a new car.  Right about now, I'd say the mattress.  They all have names like pretentious KB Homes subdivisions.  Chadfield Grove.  Casselton Luxury.  Millridge.  I expected a Grosse Pointe model to appear.  And of course, each retailer has their own model line from the manufacturer.  And finding an equivalence table, is like searching for the Holy Grail.

Can you imagine you go to one Honda dealership and they show you an Accord?  You go to the second dealership and they show you a Honda 'Harmony,' and even though it looks different inside and out, they swear to you, it's like the Accord you saw down the street.  They both drive okay, but who can tell after fifteen minutes? 

It was with these thoughts in mind, that I set out alone early Saturday morning to do the deed.  I diligently read my Consumer Reports buying guide, got into my car, and I was off.  My first stop Leeds Mattress.  I was all alone with the sales guy -- carefully checking the coil counts which were in incredibly tiny type.  Then I looked again around the store, and started asking questions.  "Why are there no prices listed on the mattress?" I asked.

Well, he hemmed and hawed, "The price depends," he finally said.

"Depends?  I'm not buying a car.  The price, should be the price, no?" I countered.

Boy was I wrong.  It's at times like these that I get really nervous.  When there are no set prices, I'm always convinced the specter of discrimination is sure to hover over the dealings -- and I'll have to get sneaky.

At Leeds, it turns out, the price depends on their day/month profitability, I'm told.  If their making their numbers, they see no reason to discount, if not, then deals can be made.  So into this ass-backwards economic ring, I drop my hat.

Since I'm only planning to buy a mattress (Consumer Reports says if your box spring -- now called a foundation -- is okay, you shouldn't replace it), I have to lie and say I'm buying a whole set. 

Conversationally, I ask, what percentage of the price is box spring anyway?  Forty to sixty percent, he lies.  (According to CR, it's about ten percent, if that).  Okay, then, let's get a price on a mattress I picked.

As mysterious as a used-car dealer, the salesman cryptically typed into a computer -- then gets out an honest-to-goodness adding machine to do the algebraic-like calculation.  Then he gives me, what I think is an outrageous price.  Maybe I was wrong.  It must have been calculus.

"You know," I say," I think I've changed my mind.  I only want a mattress.  So the price should go down about sixty percent, right?"

Cornered, he quotes me a more reasonable price.  I get that in writing, and go to the next store.

At the Mattress Gallery, we meet Leon, who exemplifies the hard sell.  Phrases like NASA Research and Bio Hazard flit around my ears.  But when Leon comes back after his computer, adding machine (with a phone call to Steve in the central office thrown in) routine, the price is still to high.

So I'm back to the first place, ordering my mattress.  It is more comfortable to sleep on?  Hell yes!  But with a car, I'd at least have something flashy to tool around in -- and a mechanic to fix any problems.  Let's just hope the mattress lasts as long as my BMW.

Jack Bauer vs. Harry Potter

Because I was watching Season Four of 24 on DVD while slogging through the last one hundred pages or so of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.