• A note, signed by Osama bin Laden, requesting that his shoes be “shined by tomorrow morning” on a memo pad from the Islamabad Pakistan Comfort Inn.
• A postcard from Pakistan’s most popular tourist destination, Multan, addressed to President George W Bush, reading “Wish you were here – ha ha ha! Love, Osama,” with an additional note scribbled on the bottom reading, “Good one, Osama—al Zawahiri.”
• A personalized sheet of stationery, printed with “From The Desk Of Osama bin Laden” across the top, with a handwritten list titled “Christmas Cards – 2002,”with the name “Donald Rumsfeld” prominently crossed off.
• A Chinese take-out menu, with a note in bin Laden’s handwriting scrawled across the front reading ‘The Mu Shu Pork sucks!”
• A Sunday Newspaper insert for unmanned aircraft parts from “Crazy Osama’s” with the tag line, “Our prices are insane!!”
• An encouraging note from the tour organizer of the 2005 “ZZ Top Rocks The World” Tour, reading, “Thank you for your interest in being a back up dancer for the tour. Unfortunately, we had many qualified candidates who bore a strong resemblance to the band. We encourage you to work on your dance moves and try out again next year.”
• A photograph of bin Laden and Ayyub al Masri sneaking into a White House State Dinner disguised as a pair of Washington socialites.
• Application with a real estate broker in Pakistan’s northern territories looking for rental properties; filled in by “Osama bin Laden” and listing a monthly rental budget of “14 billion US Dollars.”
• A letter from Maxim Magazine apologizing that bin Laden didn’t receive the prior month’s issue, and pointing out that “In our defense, you have filed one hundred and ninety-seven ‘change of address’ cards.”
• A note from Mark Burnett, producer of reality shows including “Survivor,” addressed to Osama bin Laden, reading in pertinent part: “While we agree that a show entitled ‘Survivor: Pakistani Tribal Lands’ would certainly draw a large, curious audience, it is perhaps a little TOO real for our tastes.”
• A partially-completed manuscript tentatively titled “Cave Living For Dummies.”
• A trademark application for a “Berkah Barbie” Doll in the name of Osama bin Laden.
• A cardboard cut-out order form from a cereal box for a Cap’n Crunch license plate in the name “Osama” paper-clipped to five of the six necessary box tops.
• A rejection from Simon & Schuster publishers, rejecting a children’s cookbook proposal, reading: “Dear Mr. bin Laden: Your book, ‘Making a Real Bomb in your Mother’s Kitchen,’ does not match our publishing needs at this time. We did want to mention that we particularly liked a few of the appetizer recipes. PS: In America, the saying is ‘da bomb,’ not ‘a bomb.’”
Friday, July 30, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Overcoming Rejection...
OK. The job market still sucks. It shows some signs of life, but it's still very, very tough. And if no one's ever mentioned this to you before, I'm fine being the first: Even when the legal job market is on fire, for the majority of law students, it's still challenging. It's not ever going to be the case that the job market is so good that Skadden Arps throws the doors open and says, "Aw, prairie s**t, let 'em all in." (Nor, might I add, would that be a GOOD thing).
Rejection is so common in law school job searching that I put a whole chapter about it in my book "Guerrilla Tactics For Getting The Legal Job Of Your Dreams." In essence, it's important to remember:
1. Employers make decisions on very skimpy information: a one page resume,a twenty minute interview. They're guessing and they know mistakes are made,that they miss good people - like you. If you want them to regret it, go out and be successful in spite of them.
2. Don't assume that they hate you, there's something wrong with you, that you'll never get a job. Rejection has no predictive value. Your next job could come through the next person you seek out.
I could go on and on, but remember: Nobody's watching. Nobody cares what you do to start your career. And nobody cares that you didn't start out on top.
Just ask the kid who came in fifth place in his first talent show, at the 1945 Alabama State Fair. He was disappointed not to win, because first place earned a bike as a prize.
Nobody remembers who came in first, but everybody knows Mr. Fifth Place:
Elvis Presley.
Rejection is so common in law school job searching that I put a whole chapter about it in my book "Guerrilla Tactics For Getting The Legal Job Of Your Dreams." In essence, it's important to remember:
1. Employers make decisions on very skimpy information: a one page resume,a twenty minute interview. They're guessing and they know mistakes are made,that they miss good people - like you. If you want them to regret it, go out and be successful in spite of them.
2. Don't assume that they hate you, there's something wrong with you, that you'll never get a job. Rejection has no predictive value. Your next job could come through the next person you seek out.
I could go on and on, but remember: Nobody's watching. Nobody cares what you do to start your career. And nobody cares that you didn't start out on top.
Just ask the kid who came in fifth place in his first talent show, at the 1945 Alabama State Fair. He was disappointed not to win, because first place earned a bike as a prize.
Nobody remembers who came in first, but everybody knows Mr. Fifth Place:
Elvis Presley.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Tiger Woods' Apology Parody
This has absolutely nothing to do with job search, but I had to post it because I think it's so funny. I'm not telling you anything you don't know when I tell you that job searching can be a miserable affair sometimes. You can always use a laugh!
“Good morning and thank you for joining me. Especially you, there, in the second row, in the tight yellow t-shirt. Thanks for coming.
Many of you in this room are my friends. Some of you are members of the golf press. Others in this room would like to be my friends. I would like to be friends with some of you, especially you, there, in the second row, in the yellow t-shirt.
I would like to say to each of you, simply and directly, that I am deeply sorry for my selfish and irresponsible behavior. I was a lying, scum-sucking, quiche-eating, two-faced, yellow-bellied, hornswoggling, blackhearted horndog.
People want to know: how could I have been so stupid and selfish?
Three simple words: Because I could. Traveling the world, alone, surrounded by busty, gorgeous women begging to be with me. Admit it. You’d do the same thing.
But that doesn’t make it right. I am trying to work things out with my wife, Elin. I would prefer that what we say to each other be kept private. Yes, my flings with hookers, strippers, TV personalities, cocktail waitresses and hoboes are on the cover of the Enquirer and sex tapes of me are floating around on the internet, but words like “I’m sorry, Elin,” should be kept private.
As Elin has told me, my real apology to her will not be in words but in action. The electric collar around my gonads will be a further incentive.
Millions of kids have changed their lives because of me, many millions have held me up as a role model, and to those of you for whom my behavior has been a major disappointment, I say: get a life. I’m a golfer, for chrissakes. You want a hero? It’s a sandwich.
There is one issue I want to discuss, however. It has been said that Elin hurt me on Thanksgiving night.
I want to state unequivocally here that none of the blows she took to the windows of my car with a golf club came anywhere near me, she has never gotten the knack of loading our twelve-gauge shotgun, her aim with a crossbow is miserable, and I outran her when she came after me with a taser.
In fact, there has never been domestic abuse in our marriage. How could there be? I was never around. Neglect, yes. Abuse, no.
But that is not the real issue. The issue here is that I cheated. I am the only person to blame. Well, me and the bimbos who threw themselves at me knowing I was a married man. But mostly me.
I knew what I was doing was wrong. I was a bad boy. A very bad boy. A very, very naughty boy, and I deserve a spanking. You agree with me, you there, in the yellow t-shirt? I thought so.
The fact is, I thought I had worked hard, and money and fame made me believe that I was entitled to behave differently.
And, of course, that’s true. You don’t catch hotties by the boatload throwing themselves at just anybody. But now, therapy has taught me that the boundaries that apply to everyone apply to me. Therapy, and the threat of a $500 million divorce suit.
I understand that people want details. Positions, sex toys, threesomes, foursomes, orgies, wearing ladies’ thong underwear at the Masters – but those items will remain private. Some in the press have taken to inventing stories. Some have even stated that I have used performance enhancing drugs. This insinuation is abominable. Yes, I cheated, I lied, I had unprotected sex with hundreds of women and other members of the animal kingdom which shall remain nameless. But the thought that I could use performance enhancing drugs wounds me to my very core. I can state here unequivocally that I have never used performance enhancing drugs. No Viagra, not now, not ever.
I believe it is right to shield my family. I have always wanted to keep my private life private, especially from my wife. The fact is that the behavior I engaged in was my own, and had nothing to do with my wife and children. It is just wrong for reporters to follow my two-year-old daughter Alex to her school, the Plantation Island Tots And Me Main Avenue Preschool, and report the location of the school.
I have a lot to do and I intend to do it. Part of this is getting in touch with Buddhism, which teaches that a craving for things outside ourselves creates an unhappy and pointless search for security. No, I must find happiness within myself. I will do it clean-shaven, for which I will rely heavily on my Gillette 5-blade razor, for the closest shave possible. I will communicate with Elin on my AT&T cellular phone and keep track of my therapy appointments on my Tag Heuer watch. I will get to those appointments in my Nike athletic shoes, and when I don’t want to go, I will tell myself, just do it. And every day, I will Accenture-ate the positive. I just have to get back in touch with my core values. I once again have to be a tiger.
I have a long way to go but I have taken the right first steps. I have once again opted for full-time, in-patient therapy, so I can spend every moment learning to be the man I want to be. This therapy will start tomorrow morning.
That leaves me free tonight. While I previously stated that I will not be answering any questions, I am willing to go one-on-one with a reporter this evening. Let me see….you, there, in the second row, in the tight yellow t-shirt? Follow me."
“Good morning and thank you for joining me. Especially you, there, in the second row, in the tight yellow t-shirt. Thanks for coming.
Many of you in this room are my friends. Some of you are members of the golf press. Others in this room would like to be my friends. I would like to be friends with some of you, especially you, there, in the second row, in the yellow t-shirt.
I would like to say to each of you, simply and directly, that I am deeply sorry for my selfish and irresponsible behavior. I was a lying, scum-sucking, quiche-eating, two-faced, yellow-bellied, hornswoggling, blackhearted horndog.
People want to know: how could I have been so stupid and selfish?
Three simple words: Because I could. Traveling the world, alone, surrounded by busty, gorgeous women begging to be with me. Admit it. You’d do the same thing.
But that doesn’t make it right. I am trying to work things out with my wife, Elin. I would prefer that what we say to each other be kept private. Yes, my flings with hookers, strippers, TV personalities, cocktail waitresses and hoboes are on the cover of the Enquirer and sex tapes of me are floating around on the internet, but words like “I’m sorry, Elin,” should be kept private.
As Elin has told me, my real apology to her will not be in words but in action. The electric collar around my gonads will be a further incentive.
Millions of kids have changed their lives because of me, many millions have held me up as a role model, and to those of you for whom my behavior has been a major disappointment, I say: get a life. I’m a golfer, for chrissakes. You want a hero? It’s a sandwich.
There is one issue I want to discuss, however. It has been said that Elin hurt me on Thanksgiving night.
I want to state unequivocally here that none of the blows she took to the windows of my car with a golf club came anywhere near me, she has never gotten the knack of loading our twelve-gauge shotgun, her aim with a crossbow is miserable, and I outran her when she came after me with a taser.
In fact, there has never been domestic abuse in our marriage. How could there be? I was never around. Neglect, yes. Abuse, no.
But that is not the real issue. The issue here is that I cheated. I am the only person to blame. Well, me and the bimbos who threw themselves at me knowing I was a married man. But mostly me.
I knew what I was doing was wrong. I was a bad boy. A very bad boy. A very, very naughty boy, and I deserve a spanking. You agree with me, you there, in the yellow t-shirt? I thought so.
The fact is, I thought I had worked hard, and money and fame made me believe that I was entitled to behave differently.
And, of course, that’s true. You don’t catch hotties by the boatload throwing themselves at just anybody. But now, therapy has taught me that the boundaries that apply to everyone apply to me. Therapy, and the threat of a $500 million divorce suit.
I understand that people want details. Positions, sex toys, threesomes, foursomes, orgies, wearing ladies’ thong underwear at the Masters – but those items will remain private. Some in the press have taken to inventing stories. Some have even stated that I have used performance enhancing drugs. This insinuation is abominable. Yes, I cheated, I lied, I had unprotected sex with hundreds of women and other members of the animal kingdom which shall remain nameless. But the thought that I could use performance enhancing drugs wounds me to my very core. I can state here unequivocally that I have never used performance enhancing drugs. No Viagra, not now, not ever.
I believe it is right to shield my family. I have always wanted to keep my private life private, especially from my wife. The fact is that the behavior I engaged in was my own, and had nothing to do with my wife and children. It is just wrong for reporters to follow my two-year-old daughter Alex to her school, the Plantation Island Tots And Me Main Avenue Preschool, and report the location of the school.
I have a lot to do and I intend to do it. Part of this is getting in touch with Buddhism, which teaches that a craving for things outside ourselves creates an unhappy and pointless search for security. No, I must find happiness within myself. I will do it clean-shaven, for which I will rely heavily on my Gillette 5-blade razor, for the closest shave possible. I will communicate with Elin on my AT&T cellular phone and keep track of my therapy appointments on my Tag Heuer watch. I will get to those appointments in my Nike athletic shoes, and when I don’t want to go, I will tell myself, just do it. And every day, I will Accenture-ate the positive. I just have to get back in touch with my core values. I once again have to be a tiger.
I have a long way to go but I have taken the right first steps. I have once again opted for full-time, in-patient therapy, so I can spend every moment learning to be the man I want to be. This therapy will start tomorrow morning.
That leaves me free tonight. While I previously stated that I will not be answering any questions, I am willing to go one-on-one with a reporter this evening. Let me see….you, there, in the second row, in the tight yellow t-shirt? Follow me."
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